


Sing the Song Anew

by Mandochk



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Alternative Story, F/M, Fantasy, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28833225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandochk/pseuds/Mandochk
Summary: The Valar knew they had slipped up the moment the song had been sung, and now someone has died that should have lived. In an attempt to fix that wrong they bring Freya into middle earth - but does she have the strength and courage to do what must be done?
Relationships: Boromir (Son of Denethor II)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 35





	1. The Song is Rewritten

**Author's Note:**

> This Fan Fiction is being slowly transferred here from FF.Net
> 
> I plan to update and heavily edit this work as I move it over to this site, especially as I want to change a couple of plot points that I no longer feel fit in with my current plans for this fanfiction. For those that have followed this story from it's original home, I hope you enjoy this retelling of the story and I look forward to sharing some of the new content I've been working on in the background very soon indeed (provided I get these OG chapters edited fairly quickly)

_We made a mistake, a horrible mistake. When we wrote the song, we played the wrong note in the singing. Death occurred where they should have been none. A spirit wanders the halls of the dead that should not yet be there, and we must correct the mistake._

_It took many months of debate to figure out the best way to correct the song, and in the end we sent another soul into the song - a soul that would save the one that had been lost. The solution was an extreme one. How would a new soul affect the sound of the song?, sometimes a new harmony is needed to fix songs, a harmony to complement the overall sound of the song - Freya was our new harmony._

_She was the one that would fix the song, bringing life back to where they had once been death._

-+-

They say that every story has a beginning, so I guess the best place to start my story is by introducing myself. My name is Freya and I am twenty-five years old. With mid-length and somewhat wavy black hair and pale blue eyes, I was hardly what you would call attractive. Especially as my pale skin still seemed liable to the occasional zit even at my age, I suppose that’s what you get when you had a habit of touching your face, something that I did in moments of stress.

I currently live in a small apartment in London and work as a clerk in a local bank branch. I never wanted to work in banking. When I was younger, I had wanted to pursue a career in archaeology, but my father had higher plans for me - plans that didn’t involve a job in a low-paying job like that. He’d wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer so he could live a comfortable life thanks to my earnings, but somehow along the way I’d lost track of the path laid out for me and took the first job that matched my skills.

At least the position was enough to keep my father off my back, even if he didn’t like it too much, because at least I was getting money in the back so I could eventually go back into college. He’d always been ever hopeful, always lurking in the shadows and waiting for me to finally display some inkling I wanted more to life than just a simple entry-level job. Working in a back wasn’t that bad overall, it paid the bills, but I just didn’t belong in such a job - it was all about meeting targets and how many products you could get a client to sign up for, not to mention the constant worry that you might have a robbery. I longed for the outside world, to feel the dirt under my fingers, and bask in the glory of a new discovery - in this office I felt drawn and exhausted. I didn’t even fit in with my co-workers.

The female employees only cared for their looks, their families, the latest fashions, and the most recent local scandals. The males - well, all they seemed to talk about were sports, and whatever woman they had taken home the previous night. My interests didn’t seem to fit in with either camp, drawing derision and snarky comments daily. I liked history and would often visit historical places when I went on holiday; I enjoyed going to the local archery range in my spare time; I enjoyed reading books, and most of all I enjoyed going to lectures on the most recent archaeological digs - things that no one at work had an interest in. Most of the guys called me a geek for reading books, and the women liked to joke that I should have been born a boy because ‘girls don’t do archery’.

Sometimes I wished for another life. A life where I would be accepted for all my quirks, and where I would no longer be teased! Mother often told me that there were other people that shared my passions, I just had to look for them, and while I knew this was true, I still didn’t feel like I fully belonged. There were days where the world felt off to me, that everything I experienced was like some blurry dream that I might wake from, and I remember the scrunched-up face my mother had made when I explained such to her. 

According to her, I was just overworked and depressed, and that I should take a pleasant holiday. It had been over a year since I had gone on a holiday - yes she admitted that I had taken time off work, but in her eyes what I needed was a nice glamorous week sprawled out on some beach in the Bahamas or somewhere equally exotic. How I had let her talk me into taking time off, I’d never know. Before long I had booked myself tickets for a flight to Rome and requested time off at work with my boss.

As off as things normally felt, it felt right to be booking a holiday. Some people joked about fate, but I felt as if this was the first thing I’d ever done that I was fated to do, as if I was supposed to take this holiday. Excitement bubbled within me as I made my preparations for the holiday, and it was changing my money for the local currency that made the whole thing very real to me. Sure, I had packed my bags, had checked to make sure my vaccinations were up to date and had even bought travel insurance and printed off my tickets. There, however, was nothing quite like getting foreign currency to let you know that your trip was imminent. 

Time seemed to fly by much quicker after that point, I hardly could keep track of the days for they seemed to pass so quickly, and before I knew it, the time had come for me to make my way to the airport.

I could remember hugging and kissing my mother, letting her know I would be back soon, and waving off her apologies that my father hadn’t come. He rarely spoke to me most days, so why would he have come this day? For him, taking vacation was something you only had when forced to, and I couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken time off. By all laws, he should have had 4 weeks a year, but he had always grumpily muttered under his breath that he couldn’t take time off because he wanted a nice comfy retirement and his daughter was just too selfish to provide him with it.

Taking a holiday was another weakness he saw in me, especially as I’d choose Rome as my destination - he’d always be a firm believer that people should have more vacations in England rather than abroad. I had fond memories of him taking us for weekends in Blackpool when I was a child, happy carefree days before he got ideas of grandeur and pushed me for academic perfection.

With one last hug, I had left my mother to finally make my way through customs, a process that always seemed to irk me. The thing that frustrated me most was the fact that they advised you to show up at least three hours before your flight, and it always took me less than half an hour to get through the entire process. Maybe I was just lucky? As busy as the airport could be, I had hit none of the snags that my friends would always gripe about - no forgetful families taking ages at check in after forgetting a boarding pass, and no paranoid idiots at customs that felt they were above walking through the body scanners. Just a nice easy breezy and fairly uneventful waiting in line whist, I wondered what in-flight movie would be available for me to watch when I finally got in the air. 

Once past the customs area I was left with a couple of hours to kill, so I ordered myself a small meal from one of the many Cafes lined along the walkways, and settled down to do a bit of people watching. Families moved from shop to shop, talking in animated tones and occasionally spotting to take photographs of themselves in front of the flight information boards. A tingle travelling down my spine - it almost felt as if this would be the last time I would see them. I pushed off the unsettling sensation, writing it off on pre-flight jitters, and sipped at my coffee. I had no reason to be worried, statistically speaking, flying was safer than driving, and I would soon be in Rome marvelling at the architecture. 

The sensation passed quickly, being replaced by the warmth of a belly full of warm food and coffee. With my meal finished, I decided that it was time for me to move toward my assigned gate and waited for the boarding procedures to start.

After what seemed like an age, I was finally sitting in my assigned seat between a rather old lady and an impeccably dressed business man that looked less than impressed to be sat in economy class seating. He was muttering to himself the whole time about his company not paying for him to travel business class and determined not to listen to him I plugged in my headset intent to watch the pre-flight safety video as we set off from the terminal. 

The plane took off into the air with barely any effort, the sensation of gravity falling out from under me in what was now a fairly pleasant sensation for me, and within a half an hour we were soon soaring high above white fluffy clouds. It was a fascinating sight; I found myself quite mesmerized as I watched them pass by via the window that the lady next to me was currently dozing against, and even more fascinating to pass through them as the plane drifted ever higher. I only allowed myself to drift off to sleep once we reached cruising altitude, the hum of the engines lulling me to sleep as the edge of the coffee finally wore off.

Dreams soon followed. Normally my dreams were not vivid affairs, but this dream was so tactile that my dreaming brain was now questioning what was reality and what was not. I watched as a male figure materialized into my dream, and I almost wished I had dreamed this man up before now, for I would have loved more regular dreams if such handsome men visited them. His long dusty blonde hair and rugged bead caused my heart to beat faster, and his elegant regal featured face would have made any girl swoon. He was dressed in odd clothes, and I wondered where I had seen him before, for I must have met him if I was dreaming of him, and I supposed I must have seen him at one of those re-enactment weekends I had attended recently given his odd attire. 

A smile passed over his lips as he looked at me with loving eyes, a gloved hand reaching up to trace over my cheek - contract that was warm even in my dream state. A jolt travelled through my body as his thumb brushed over my face, his lips moving in words that I couldn’t quite make out as my body was brought back to the living.

I was fully jarred out of the pleasant dream as the plane bucked wildly in the air, my eyes opening blearily as I cursed the turbulent air that the plain was currently experiencing. If only the bucking had been so innocent, if only it had been turbulence, but it was not. The plane was dropping out of the air, causing a sickening sensation in the pit of my stomach as airbags dropped from their holding cells. In my panic, I didn’t even remember putting the air mask over my face, nor could I remember helping the poor kid beside me.

All I remembered was the sensation of gravity taking hold, the screams of the surrounding people, and then there was nothing but darkness as the plane jolted at the moment of impact with the ground.

-+-

_She will arrive soon, we have seen to that. There is no going back now. The note has been added to the song, now all we must do is wait to see how the song will sound. We can only hope that she will do as fate dictates._


	2. Awakening

The darkness that surrounded me was warm and comforting, like a dreamless sleep that you were semi aware of being in and so utterly content that you didn’t want to leave it. I had always thought that death would be a scary thing, yet I was not afraid - there was nothing to fear here as I slowly slipped through the gloom. My conciousness drifted along through ageless eons, and I let the current carry me as it wished - just content to let the worries of life become a thing of the past.

Now and then I heard soft whispers in the void, voices that were so far away that I could not discern what they were saying. It was nice to know that I was not alone in this darkness, that somewhere out there others were also drifting in the same death-like state as myself. I wondered if the voices belonged to the other passengers on the flight, and that we were all drifting toward whatever afterlife awaited us together.

A slight tingling was the first sensation that I felt in the darkness, the feeling almost like it belonged to a limb that I no longer had. Or maybe I did? Because it certainly felt like I had a pair of arms once again, and the darkness no longer seemed to be as dark as it had previously. There was a growing brightness that swelled in the blackness, that was much like the first blush of sunlight as the sun rose above the horizon. Slowly I became aware of the fact that I did indeed own a body, the feeling of heaviness being so at odds to the lightness that I had felt before. I almost wished that I had that blissful feeling of floating still, I didn’t much like the incredibly laden feeling of being in my body again, and I was extremely aware of all the aches I had in my limbs.

Then sound returned to my consciousness, assaulting my senses with its loudness and drawing a groan from my parched vocal chords. Already I had a headache and given the discomfort I was in, I didn’t want to open my eyes just yet. I feared what I would see once I gathered the energy to open my eyelids. Would I find myself in a hospital ward hooked up to some machine? I didn’t think I was in one. I couldn’t hear any of the typical machines a hospital would have, and I didn’t feel any breathing tubes in my mouth, so that possibility was pushed out of consideration.

So I wasn’t in a hospital. Did that mean I was at the site of the crash still? Would I open my eyes to scenes of carnage? No. That didn’t seem possible either, for I could feel soft bedding pressing in against my back. I couldn’t be in the wilderness then. Did that mean some creep had saved me from the crash site? I felt so confused, and the only way to solve the confusion was to open my eyes.

The task loomed like a mountain before me, out of reach and a task to just bring myself to the peak. My eyes fluttered open slowly, taking in the bright room that I laid in, the white-washed walls, and pale bed linens that were pulled up high over my body. The architecture of the room I was in didn’t look like anything I recognized. The headboard of the bed alone was foreign in design. Where was I? Panic formed a tight ball right in the pit of my stomach, and I tried to push myself upright so I wasn’t so vulnerable - but I couldn’t.

My limbs felt stiff, as if I hadn’t used them for millennia, and I was resigned to lying on the bed whilst trying not to hyperventilate as I noted the fact that the room I was in was open to the elements on one side. In any other state, I would have appreciated the beauty of having a room with such openness to nature, but today it just made me feel even more detached than I already was.

Of course, it didn’t help my panicked state when someone came into the room to check on me. The tall, dark-haired male looked normal enough on first glance, with a serious and rather regal featured face that reminded me of one of my old school teachers. But his medieval style clothing and his pointed ears were enough to tell me he was anything but normal. I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, but found no words came out. Instead, I opened and closed my mouth in a manner that resembled a fish, and I am sure that I looked as stupid as a fish, especially with my eyes wide open in shock.

I tried not to stare at the man, but stare I did! There was something familiar about the odd man, beyond him resembling one of my teachers that was, and I felt I had seen him somewhere before - which was odd because I was sure I had ever met this person in my life. I would have remembered seeing someone with pointed ears - you just wouldn’t forget something like that. Despite my poor manners, the dark-haired male was smiling kindly at me, the warmth on his face was both obvious and honest. He genuinely was happy to see that I was awake, which took the edge off the panic slightly, but it soon returned when he finally broke the silence.

“I am glad to see you have finally awoken, I was concerned that you would never come round.”

His voice held a melodic quality to it, that made him sound like he was singing to some unheard music, and as beautiful as it sounded it was his accent that brought the panic back to the fore. The accent was like nothing I had heard before, not that I had heard every accent in the world, mind you, but working in a bank in London had meant that I had been exposed to quite a few over the years. I could feel my heart beating wildly in my chest, a sensation that often went hand in hand with the fight-or-flight response. I couldn’t run, however, my body would not allow for that just yet, and besides that seemed hardly a good way to repay this man for taking me into his care.

“We found you on the borders of Rivendell, unconscious, almost a week ago.

Wait ... did he just say Rivendell? Had I been rescued by an intense role player? Surely he would not be in character for so long and greet me thus after waking up from unconsciousness - that would be most rude. The man had to be insane, and I laughed at the whole situation. He didn’t seem to understand my reaction either, his face sporting a confused expression that only made me laugh all the more.

“Rivendell. That’s funny. Now come on, surely you can break character and tell me where I am.”

I don’t know how I had talked over the laughter, but I had. My ribs ached painfully and my host looked like he was trying to regain some sense of composure. His hands moving so they rested in front of his torso regally, and brows lifting ever so slightly as he looked down at my form. Even his lips thinned into a sterner line, the skin paling at the firmness of the expression that was crossing his face.

“You are in my home. I am Lord Elrond and this is Rivendell ... now my lady, what is your name?”

Wait, was he serious? Or was this some stupid joke? The whole situation caused my head to ache even more - a precursor to a splitting migraine. I struggled with my unwilling body to move my arm, laboriously bringing it up to rub at the bridge of my nose with a groan. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck with some lord of the rings nut that thought they were Elrond! Despite how bat shit this whole situation was, I knew it was extremely rude of me to not introduce myself in return.

“Well ... Lord Elrond. My name is Freya, and I would love if you could give me a phone so I can let my family know I am okay.”

He seemed to mull over that, a look of confusion once more on his face. Either he was a really talented actor or he seriously didn’t know what I was talking about. Oh, how I wished it was the former, but the more I looked into his face the more I had to creeping sensation that he really was Lord Elrond ... oh good lord ... he really was Lord Elrond! Those pointed ears were not prosthetics, the unfamiliar architecture of the room was now explained as being Elven, and the odd accent he had was similarly explained. I was in Middle Earth, a place that didn’t exist beyond a few books - perhaps I really was dead and this was my afterlife?

No ... this felt too real to be an afterlife. I was very much alive, as was the Elven lord that stood beside my bed, and he was staring at me as if I had grown two heads. I knew that I would have a lot to explain to him, after all he was bound to want to know how I came to be on the borders of his land, and to be plainly honest I did not know how I had gotten here myself! Surely you didn’t just come to Middle Earth because of a plane crash. If that was the case, I was sure that a few hundred thousand fangirls would be deliberately crashing planes just to get here. The image of thousands of fan girl’s dog piling on Legolas almost made me lose it again, and I hid my face behind my hand to hide my expressions.

“I am afraid lady Freya, I know not what this phone is. I do, however, wish to know how you came to be in our lands and whence you came,”

Oh great, there was that question that I had feared he would ask. How was I going to answer that one? Oh, I come from London; I know not how I came to be here, and oh, by the way, your homeland is a location from a story in a book. Yeah, that was sure to not earn me any favours. I didn’t want Elrond knowing that I knew the stories of his lands, especially when I had no idea of where I was in the entire time frame of the novels - revealing certain information was bound to change things, right? Oh crap, now I was here it what did that mean for the story? I rested my shaking hands in my lap and started telling my story to Lord Elrond.

I told him about my life in London; I told him about boarding the plane; I told him about the crash, and lastly I told him about drifting into the darkness of death. What I didn’t tell him about was the Lord of the Rings books, and I didn’t tell him about my complicated family life ... those were two details I promised to keep to myself for the time being until I figured it I could actually trust him or not. To his credit, Lord Elrond tried to keep his confusion about the things I talked about from showing on his face too much, and he didn’t interrupt my story with questions. He just listened and took it all in. A thoughtful look on his face betrayed little of his inner thoughts before he finally broke the silence.

“Well, Freya, that is quite a tale. I know not why you have been brought here, but I can sense you will affect many things.”

Those were the last things I wanted to hear. I didn’t want to affect many things. I just wanted to go home, which I am now sure was an option that was now beyond me, or sink into some corner of middle earth and sink into obscurity without ruining the pre-existing story. Obscurity had suited me plenty fine in London - why couldn’t now be any different? Pain coursed through my head as the headache pounded against my temples, the assault of too many thoughts at once only fuelling the headache and pulling me back into the depths of unconsciousness.


	3. Sewing and Boromir

I had been in middle earth almost a month now, and while things still felt somewhat alien, I had to admit that I was getting a lot more comfortable with my new life. There were some days where I had terrible attacks of culture shock, mainly because my hosts were so different to myself, and not to mention that women had a far lesser role in this world than my own. Feminism and equality were non-existent here, the men did the fighting, and the women kept the home - which meant that I spent most of my days in the company of Elrond’s lovely daughter Arwen.

The poor woman had been trying to teach me how to do needlepoint for the past week now. The entire process was boring to me, I wasn’t very good at it at all, and I spent more time pricking myself with the needle then actually doing any sewing. My crafted image I was currently working on was not very good at all, and while Arwen insisted I was doing well for a beginner, I could tell that she was lying to make me feel better and that I had mangled the image badly. Oddly enough, I missed my old job, which was highly ironic as I had hated it for so long now. 

I missed advising people on their mortgages; I missed processing the deposits of the local small business owners, and I hated to admit that I even missed the teasing of my coworkers. A heavy sigh left my lungs as I rested the loop that held my needlepoint on my lap, trying to focus on whatever Arwen was saying out of politeness, but I just couldn’t focus. There was something about today that I was missing, something important that I just couldn’t put my finger on, and I hated when I couldn’t remember something important. 

The first few days of my stay had been spent in the company of Lord Elrond as he taught me about the history of the world that I had found myself in. Most of the information, I had already known, and other parts were new to me - mainly because I had never finished the Silmarillion or the book of unfinished tales. In return, I taught Elrond about my world, or at least gave more information than I had alluded to after my awakening in the infirmary. To say Elrond was intrigued was putting it lightly, and he often stopped me halfway through my stories to explore topics within them - he seemed especially interested in the idea of electronic items and airplanes.

As the days had rolled by, Elrond had continued to explore his library, mainly because he still maintained hope that there would be a way home for me. I had explained that there was no way back, that there were very few examples of people that had survived airplane crashes. That had not stopped him, he’d been insistent in trying to find someway of helping me, and while I appreciated his optimism I had never the less come to accept that I was here permanently now. 

“What are you thinking about?”

Arwen’s voice brought me out of my reverie, my body jolting at the surprise at being addressed by the female. She had a concerned look on her face, and a slight sadness in her eyes. Apart from Elrond, she was the only one in Rivendell that knew about my origins, and I knew she felt sorry for my situation - though I could not summon up the ability to be too sad myself. I didn’t know if it was odd that I had yet to fully grieve for the loss of my previous life; I guess if it had been anyone else in this situation, they would have freaked out and slowly come to terms with being stuck in the world. Myself - well, I kind of felt like I belonged here.

“I was just thinking that today feels odd, like I have forgotten to do something”

I was being brutally honest; it did indeed feel like I had forgotten something. The feeling nagged at the back of my mind, and as close as it was, the thought was just out of reach of my mental prodding. I had never forgotten things before, I normally was very good at keeping track of calendar events, and yet being in this world had me grasping at straws. I guessed it had something to do with the fact that this world didn’t have a physical means to track time with. They had sundials yes but didn’t have wristwatches or wall calendars - so I had no personal way to track the passage of time. The sun rose and the sunset, and those where the only proper ways I had to track time - though I guessed that once I was here long enough, the subtle changes of the seasons would soon allow me to know where I was in the year.

“There is nothing you have been invited to if that is your concern, I would not let you forget such matters if you had been”

Her words were comforting, but I couldn’t escape the fact that the thought was still there. Sighing, I lowered my needlepoint into the basket beside me. My left hand grasping the arm of the chair so that I could more easily push myself out of the chair that I had been sitting in. I had been seated for so long that my butt had gone numb, and it felt glorious to have the sensation drifting back into the area.

“I know, however, I can’t shake the feeling. I am going for a walk to clear my head, perhaps that will help”

I held out my hand as she rose, a sure signal that she would walk with me if I would let her do so. Normally I would appreciate the company, but I needed some time alone to think. I didn’t even need to verbally tell her I wanted to be alone. The elf seemed to grasp that I did not want her company on the walk and returned to her sewing. She looked to be a picture of serenity, and I felt jealous that I never could achieve the same effect. I was used to being an active person, and womanly pursuits just did not suit me in the slightest, and I worried about how I would fit into a world that wouldn’t welcome such a thing.

I for certain wouldn’t attract a man and would become that crazy cat lady stereotype spinster.

Why the idea of romance had crossed my mind wasn’t clear to me. I hadn’t actively pursued such matters in my world; had been too focused on my work to go on any dates, and I hadn’t really had plans to date soon, although I knew I wanted a man to be in my life. I knew without a doubt that I would not allow myself to pursue a romance in this world ... what if me being in a relationship with someone, even if that someone was obscure, changed the whole storyline in the books? No, I had to die alone, and that was that! The thought saddened me, as if that promise to myself went against the very reason for my arrival here.

Perhaps that was the thought I was trying to place? Perhaps in my drifting through limbo I had been told why I was here and had since forgotten it?

I ran a hand through my hair and lamented at the rough feeling of the strands. Days of being without shampoo and conditioner certainly weren’t having a beneficial effect on my locks, and while middle earth had some soaps for washing with, my hair had yet to get used to the new product. In time I supposed my hair’s condition would improve in time, but for now I felt I looked a right mess. I was so lost in thought that I lost track of where I was, just allowing my feet to carry me along in whatever direction they wished, and letting out a startled sound as I bumped into the firm body of a male as I went to turn a corner of the corridor. 

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. I didn’t see you there. I was lost in thought and wasn’t paying the least bit of atenti...”

My sentence drifted off as I jumped back and looked up at the face of the man. It was at that point that a jarring sensation filled me and the world seemed to fall away from me as I stared into gray eyes that were so familiar to me. It wasn’t just the eyes that were familiar, everything about him was known to me. From his dusty blond hair to his close-cropped facial hair and clothing. I felt my body swaying, and it was only the firm grip of his gloved hand that kept me upright, which I was grateful for as I was sure that without that grip I would have fallen to the floor and sorely embarrassed myself in front of the stranger.

Yet this was no stranger, not really. This stranger was the man from the dream I had in the airplane, the stranger that had touched me so tenderly and looked at me with such love.

It was jarring to find out someone in your dreams was an actual person you had never met. Not to mention it embarrassed me I had dreamt of someone I had never met in such a loving manner. I could feel my cheeks lighting up in a blush as warmth flooded to my face, and I wished a hole would just open up and swallow me whole. The thought that the man didn’t know of my dream and thus had no reason to be angry at me for dreaming him in such a romantic way did not calm me in the slightest, and I wished he would not look at me with such concern as he gently guided me toward a nearby bench that my body willingly sunk down onto.

“M’lady, are you ill? Should I fetch a healer?”

Oh gods, that voice. It was the sexiest thing I had ever heard in my life. His baritone voice held a gentle tone to it, the accent one that was so unfamiliar to me and yet sounded so pleasant to my ears. As the silence wore on his expression became more concerned, and I realised I would have to answer his questions - or I would soon have to deal with a concerned Elrond too and that I didn’t need. I took a deep calming breath, willing my flailing thoughts into some manner of control, before giving a somewhat wonky smile to the male that was kneeling on the ground in front of me.

“Oh no, I am not Ill ... sorry, you just caught me by surprise as you looked like someone I knew”

He seemed relieved, at least the tension in his shoulders and face had dissipated. He carefully took my hands into his own, his head lowering ever so slightly so that he was looking at the ground, and it made me feel like I had just caught him with his hands in the cake jar or something.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to cause distress. Whom do I remind you of?”

It was sweet of him to apologize when he had done nothing wrong in the slightest. His question however negated any warm and fluffy feelings I had been experiencing from his apology - what did I say in response to that question. I certainly couldn’t say that I had dreamed of him. A sick sensation settled into the pit of my stomach as I realized I would have to tell him a lie. I didn’t like lying, it just didn’t feel right, and yet I know I might have to get used to it, for I would have to tell a lot of lies in this world. 

“My best friend. We were like brothers, him and I, we did everything together until he passed away”

The sad expression on his face tore me apart, and while I was used to people feeling sorry for me, I had never felt guilty for it. Now that there was a lie involved, I felt horrible about the pity I had elicited in him, and I instantly wanted to take it all back and make things better again. But I knew I couldn’t, I didn’t want him to think me a freak - I just wanted to have a conversation with someone that didn’t involve my world and crazy theories.

“I am sorry, my lady. I can leave if that would make you feel better”

I instantly gripped his hands, causing him to look up in a questioning manner, to which I motioned to the bench beside me. The Poor bloke had to be getting sore knees kneeling on the ground as he was, and despite his slight hesitation he took up my offer to sit beside me.

“No, it is okay. I would have you stay ... I would appreciate the company. My name is Freya, daughter of Craig”

The introduction felt awkward, mainly because I had never used my father’s first name before coming to this world. I had always been Freya Larson, in charge of my fate and free of my father’s meddling ways. My new companion however didn’t seem too bothered by my timid introduction, and he even gave me a slight tip of his head before introducing himself.

“Freya, daughter of Craig. It is very nice to meet your acquaintance. I am Boromir, son of Denethor and captain of Gondor.”

Boromir ... did he just say Boromir?

Finally, everything clicked into place and I realized why today felt so important. It was because the members of the secret council had arrived and the fate of the ring would soon be decided. Excitement and dread filled me all at once, excitement at being able to witness some small part of the quest to take the ring to Mordor, and dread that I had dreamt of Boromir while on the plane. I took a few slow breaths, not wanting to distress Boromir by giving him another reason to think me ill. Outwardly I was pleasant and calm, happily exchanging pleasantries with the man of Gondor, but inside I was feeling a complete mental mess.

I just hoped that things would settle back into place once the fellowship of the ring had left, then I wouldn’t have to think of Boromir or that damned dream ever again. The man beside me would be dead in a matter of months, a fate that would redeem him and spur on the breaking of the fellowship. It didn’t feel right that such a gentleman would be twisted beyond recognition by the ring and would have to give up his life to make up for that wrong. I didn’t tell him such things, of course. I kept them hidden, and when he finally took his leave of me, we parted as friends.

If only I had known about the changes, that would soon come my way.


	4. The council of Elrond

Why had I snuck into the council earlier that morning? I knew exactly what would happen in the council that was about to start, who would say what, and which members would eventually volunteer to help Frodo in his quest to take the ring to Mordor. 

Yet curiosity had gotten the better of me, I’d used the cover of the pre-dawn darkness to slip my body into one of the many bushes that lined the open area, and Already I was questioning my hiding spot. The bush barely seemed big or bushy enough to hide my body from view, and the harsh poking of a branch in my back dared me to move an inch. But I felt like I had to be here, I wanted to see at least one small part of the big drama that was about to play out in middle earth, so that when I was old and grey, I could say ‘I saw the council of Elrond’ with pride in my voice - though I suspected that most people would class me as being an ‘old loon’ by that time and give me humouring smiles.

The first arrivals into the open spaced council were tall, their flaxen hair and haughty faces revealing them to be the elves of Mirkwood. One of the group caught my full attention and made me forget about the fierce prodding of the branch in my back. The princely aura of the tallest male told me this could only be one person - Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood and son of Thranduil. I could think of a few of my friends that would squeal at the sight of the elf, but frankly I just couldn’t see the appeal of him myself. Sure he could be classed as handsome in all sense of the word, but he was too prim and proper for my particular tastes. I liked manly men, men that didn’t bother with the ‘manscaping’ that seemed so popular in today’s society ... Or would that be tomorrow’s society seeing as I had been flung back to the equivalent of the middle ages? 

The whole idea made my head spin, and I felt suddenly homesick.

My musings on what qualities made for the perfect man and the merits of home came to an abrupt end when the dwarves and humans arrived, their faces bitter and drawn. The dwarves fixed offended glares toward the elves, more than a few grumbling to themselves in that harsh language of theirs, and at least one made a rude gesture toward Legolas. Even a council to discuss the fate of their earth couldn’t erase the racial feud between the elves and dwarves. Though I felt it slightly promising that they could at least stand each other long enough to be breathing the same air, though I could tell that just one ill muttered word would start an all-out fight. 

I just wished I could remember the lore of Middle Earth better. The Silmarillion and other books by Tolkien had never really been an easy read for my wandering mind, and I just could not remember what had caused the feud. I pushed aside the thought, knowing that I could just ask one of the many elves in Rivendell about the matter after the council, and instead focused on trying to pick out familiar faces - after all if Legolas had been easy enough to spot then the other members of the fellowship would be just as easy!

A brief search of the faces in the room revealed that I was right. Many of the fellowship looked much as they did in the movies, but with enough differences in facial appearance that I sometimes needed a second look.

The first person I spotted was of course Boromir. How could I miss him in the crowd when I had already met him some days previously? Though I had to say he looked to be in a much more presentable manner today. His clothing was of a finer style, his blonde hair had been brushed, and his thick beard had a neatly trimmed appearance - in all he looked like much more liked the son of a Steward of Gondor then he had last time I had seen him, though I still preferred his ‘just got off the beaten track look’. The man of Gondor looked distracted, his eyes moving around the room as if in search of something, and a sickening sensation settled in my stomach as I realised what it was he was looking for - he was looking for the reason they had all been brought here for. He was looking for the ring of power.

If only he knew what that ring would do to him, how it would turn him from a man of power to a man of pity. All I wanted to do was run over to him and warn him of what was to come, to save him from himself and his own weaknesses.

I knew ultimately that there was nothing that could save him, and I turned my attention from him to the other humans that had joined the council. The dark-haired man a few seats down from him looked just like any of the other humans, but there was something about the look of him - some kind of regal bearing that told me that this was none other than Aragorn. I could see why Arwen would be interested in him. He was quite handsome and like Boromir he had that rugged look that both men wore so well. Why did the men of Gondor have to be so stupidly attractive? 

It made my decision to not fall in love with someone so much harder, and I made a mental note to not move to Gondor when the time finally came to leave Rivendell - if I ever left Rivendell, that is. Elrond certainly didn’t seem like it was in a rush to kick me out, and I felt peacefully at home in the Elven valley for the time being - even if Arwen constantly dragged me into her needlepoint sessions. Over the years I felt that the aloof nature of the elves would become taxing for me to deal with, and that perhaps I would move from the welcoming home of lord Elrond as I drifted into my twilight years.

Pulling my gaze away from the men of Gondor, I found myself once more scanning the faces of those present in the room and looked at a red-haired and bushy-bearded dwarf that just had to be Gimli. He seemed to be a fairly gruff fellow, his hands holding tight to one of the small axes wedged in his belt in a manner that made me question if it was a wise idea to allow weapons into such a council. A low muttering in the room started as a new group of arrivals entered the council area, and I knew instantly whom they were. I didn’t need a second look to tell me that the smallest of the group was Frodo, that the figure in grey was Gandalf, and with them was the now familiar face of Lord Elrond. 

It was the latter that made me feel most anxious, his keen eyes drawn to my hiding spot as if he knew I was there. Elrond’s intense gaze made me want to reveal myself and plead my forgiveness. It was a desire I had to quell quickly as knowing my luck I would step out and find out that he did not know I was sneakily watching the council after all. No, unless he specifically called me out then I was going to stay right where I was, and I literally held my breath until he looked away to look over the council with a serious expression on his flawless face. 

With his attention now off me I allowed myself to relax as much as I could with a pointy stick working its way into my back - the bush seemed to not be enjoying my company much, but it would sadly have to put up with me awhile longer as the council was only just getting started - each person taking their seats once Lord Elrond had taken his place at the open end of the semicircle of seats and addressed the gathered group with a solemn voice.

“Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom. Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

I looked to the small hobbit, my heart bleeding for what he had already been through and what he had yet to suffer. If only I could take this fate from him so that he wouldn’t have to endure the evils of the ring or the forces of Mordor - but that would change the fate of the world. I was just an observer in this, and while Frodo would suffer, he would save this entire world. My eyes watched him as he moved toward the pedestal in the center of the room, carefully placing the ring upon the smooth surface and I leaned forward slightly for a better look of the item - heck I even expected to feel some kind of tempting call from the ring. 

But there was nothing, I felt no voice, and I felt no desire to take the evil item for myself - perhaps that would come later? Perhaps temptation came with longer exposure to the ring? That couldn’t be it, I could already hear Boromir’s voice talking about the ring being a gift to the foes of Mordor - already he seemed to be tempted by it ... so why was she not affected the same way? Perhaps the fact I was from another world saved me from its whisperings and temptations? I had so many questions, and I wasn’t even sure I would ever find the answers to them, so instead I turned my attention to what Boromir was saying.

“It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy. Let us use it against him!”

I shook my head at the theory. The ring would never allow itself to be used against its master. It would just turn the minds of the men of Gondor to evil, and there was no way back from that. At least Aragorn seemed to feel the same way as myself, his calm features turning to the captain of Gondor - though there seemed some spark of frustration and was that ... disappointment?

“You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master”

Aragorn’s voice was every bit as stately as I expected it to be. The accenting was different to the actor that had played him in the movies, but the depth was the same and there was the same anger at the mere suggestion that they should use the ring. I felt somewhat upset that Boromir still looked so set on the matter, his handsome features holding the same anger that Aragorn had in his voice - how could someone that had been so kind when he had talked with me, now talk with such utter darkness in his voice? It had to be that ring; I didn’t want to think that this was normal behaviour for Boromir.

“And what would a ranger know of this matter?”

That lone sentence brought Legolas to his feet. Up to now the Elf had been silent, but he now came to the defence of the ranger that sat opposite.

“This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.”

Ohhhh burn Boromir! You didn’t see that coming, did you? A look of shock crossed the Gondorian’s face as he turned toward the calm faced ranger who was still sat not that far away from him.

“Aragorn? This… is Isildur’s heir?”

“And heir to the throne of Gondor”

Boromir still looked angry that he was being questioned, and now this revelation had been flung into the mix, leaving his features contorted and deformed in sheer defiance of this supposed ‘king’. Aragorn shook his head slightly, lifting a hand as he addressed the Elf with a somewhat tired tone.

“Havo dad Legolas”

“Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king”

It was at this point that I found that my attention wavered from what was going on. At first I had been excited to see all this happen before my eyes, but I had seen this scene a dozen times in the movies and read it more times than I cared to count for in the books. I grew bored with all the bickering and arguing that was slowly escalating as old rivalries and bitter hatred was remembered. A dozen voices rose higher and higher as the tension built until they were shouting at the tops of their lungs to be heard over each other, then suddenly it all came crashing down as one small voice broke out from among the wall of noise.

“I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though.. I do not know the way,”

I shifted slightly, my eyes drawn to the slight form of Frodo as he volunteered to take the ring to Mordor. He looked so small among so many tall people, his face having an uncertain look, and yet there was a determined set to his lips and stance. Thankfully, he was soon joined by the tall figure of Gandalf.

“I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it is yours to bear”

Oh god, this was it. The fellowship was being formed, and within a few weeks they would be off on their way. I had to stop myself from making a sound of delight as I watched the next few moments unwind in front of me, as Aragorn stood up to offer his own service to the hobbit.

“If, by my life or death, I can protect you, I will. You have my sword.”

Legolas was next to join, closely followed by Gimli.

“And you have my bow”

“And my axe!”

I could tell by the exchange of dark looks that they didn’t like each other much, and there would be a fair few arguments between them before this was all over and done with. The movement from the corner of my eyes turned my attention to Boromir, though I wondered if he wanted to protect the hobbit - or if he was doing this for the need of the ring.

“You carry the fates of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done”

A shout suddenly came from one bush not that far away from me, and the barrel-like form of Samwise rushed toward Frodo.

“Mr. Frodo is not goin’ anywhere without me!”

“No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not”

Elrond didn’t seem pleased at all. Poor guy - this was supposed to be a secret council and now there were two more hobbits running toward their friend from behind one of the many pedestals that supported a curving pavilion to the right of the council. I wondered how the pair had hidden behind them and not be spotted by anyone; the pillars were not the best of hiding spots in all of middle earth. Lucky sods. If only I could get away with something like that.

“Wait! We are coming too!”

“You’d have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!”

“Any way you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest… thing”

“Well, that rules you out Pip”

Hah! I liked those two, they were really quite cute and troublesome. I smiled, but my smile faltered as I noticed Gandalf had moved from the group ... he wasn’t supposed to move. He was supposed to stand there and Elrond would declare them the fellowship of the ring; I was not expecting for a rough hand to grip the back of my dress and pull me out of the bush with a sharp yank. A low grumbling left me as I looked up at Gandalf. And while his face had a look of disappointment, his eyes had a sparkle of amusement at finding another hidden spy.

“We will need you too, you have knowledge that might assist us in our quest”

I spluttered and choked on my saliva - I totally didn’t want to sign up for this! Plus, how did Gandalf know I had knowledge to help? If he knew what I knew, then he should know that having me along would change the entire story ... yet he seemed totally at ease with this as Elrond proclaimed us the fellowship of the ring. To me this was all some nightmare, especially as all the men with the exceptions of Boromir and Gandalf were looking at me as if I was going to be some kind of burden on this quest.

I was now a member of the fellowship of the ring, and I would have to tread carefully if I were to keep the story on the knife edge route it was supposed to take.


	5. A Test of Skills

We had lingered in Rivendell for some weeks now, and my impatient thoughts told me that this was a bad idea. Even now, as I stood here going over the contents of my travel pack, Sauron was gathering his forces!. 

I’d never been a patient person, always containing far too much nervous energy to be on the move, and just get things over and done with. I had felt this same on edge sensation in my body just before the plane flight, before my very first interview, and even before my first day of high school. The only way I knew how to deal with that energy was to keep myself physically active and fret over the ‘tiny details’ of life that didn’t really matter in the bigger picture. Currently, I was sorting through my travel pack once more, my belongings spread out over my bed, and I felt distinctly depressed that I had so few belongings. After all my time in Rivendell, you would have thought I would have settled in more - but I hadn’t. I’d always felt that at some point I would go back home - that settling in was a waste of time. In the end, I couldn’t help but think I had been living in denial.

I couldn’t go back. I’d been involved in a plane crash - my body was probably laying burnt at the bottom of some ocean and in no state for me to go back to it. 

The whole thought made me shiver from head to toe. It was a sensation that made me think of the old saying ‘feeling like someone had just stepped over your grave’ ... yeah, that’s what that feeling felt like. My fingers curled into the soft fabric of the white blouse I held in my hands, one of a few items that had come with me to middle earth. Only the clothes I had worn that fateful day had come with me, a few meagre items that served as a reminder of the place I had come from. There was the white blouse that was still in my hands, the fabric made of smooth cotton and cut in fitted panels that complimented any female’s figure. There was the black pencil line skirt, cut just below the knee: it was something that Elrond had called ‘unladylike’ on over one occasion. Of course there were my undergarments, the plain white bra and panties that were hardly the most feminine of items - not that I was going to go around flashing my bits at every Tom, Dick and Harry in middle earth! Lastly, there were my shoes, a pair of smart black ballerina pumps that still lay in the drawer beside my dress with the skirt. The skirt and the shoes had long ago been marked as ‘not suitable’ for walking to Mordor in, even if the idea of walking up to the fires of mount doom in business attire did amuse me somewhat.

Only now looking back on things did I see my mother’s point. She had said I had dressed more for another day at work rather than an exciting holiday in Rome. I sighed, I never had been much good with casual wear - to me the outfit had been comfortable and thus good for flying in. Now I wish I had worn something a little more casual, because then at least I would have more things to take with me on this trip and I wouldn’t have to rely on Elrond to provide me with so many things.

I sighed and lay down the blouse back down onto my bed, placing it back into the pile of things I would take with me. Alongside it lay a pile of thick cotton shirts and pants, items that had been given to me when it had been decided that I was to go on this trip. There was also the pair of leather thigh-high boots that rested at the end of my bed, and the thick brown cloak that was hooked over the back of one chair. Part of me wanted to take more than a few changes of clothing, but I knew that if I took more than, I would have to carry it. I doubted that any of the fellowship would carry it for me, mostly; they had treated me like an unpleasant smell - avoiding me where and when they could. Well ... except for the hobbits, that is. The little folk had made me feel welcome, coming to my door each morning with plates piled high with food and bright smiles on their faces. They had said I was too thin and needed to be fed up, and hadn’t understood why that had upset me so much.

I never told them it was something that my grandmother would say whenever we met up for dinner. She would cook me her delicious roast dinner every time I went over, with mounds of roast potatoes and rich gravy - piled high on my plate with vegetables, roast chicken and Yorkshire puddings. Then she would lay it on the table in front of me, complain that I was too thin and proclaim that she would feed me up! I’d never be able to experience that again, and the poor Hobbits had done their best to cheer me up when they saw I was upset. They had never used that phrase again after that, though they still came to my door each morning with enormous plates of food. 

It made me feel this trip wouldn’t be so bad - even if the rest of the men detested me to varying degrees, I would at least have the hobbits on my side. Pippin seemed to be especially enamoured with me - always offering me sweet treats whenever they came over, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that cake was not an appropriate breakfast food. It was impossible to say no to him when looked at you with those puppy dog eyes and wobbling lower lip.

A knock on the door of my chambers pulled me back into the moment, my brows raising at I wondered whom it was at the door. It was just gone midday, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to come visiting. The only time I had company was in the morning when the hobbits came to visit, and the evenings when Elrond would come to teach me about the workings of middle earth. Still frowning I opened the door, dragging it open to reveal the waiting figure of one Legolas Greenleaf - of all the people that would come to see me it was him I expected least of all. He hadn’t said one word to me since that day in the council, and I’d not even seen him around of late ... from what I heard, he seemed most annoyed and upset that a woman was in the fellowship. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, feeling suddenly rather tired and deflated as I looked up at the elf. He was easily a head and shoulders above me and I didn’t enjoy looking up at people, especially when they didn’t like me too much.

“What can I help you with Legolas?” 

My voice was neutral as I spoke, offering him a low tip of my head to be polite. I would spend months on the road in his company, so I at least wanted to give him a reason to like me or this would be one awkward road trip. The elf, to his credit, at least gave me a lopsided smile in return, though he was attempting to be nice to me.

“Gandalf mentioned you know how to use a bow. I wanted to see if your skills will be good enough for this quest.” 

The ice and crispness in Legolas’s voice instantly brought me down. He wasn’t here to make some offer of friendship, he’d heard that I had some combat training and wanted to see if I was any good - he was here to give me some kind of test that much was clear. I tried to glare down my nose at him, my hands on my hips as I showed my distaste of his comment, but he didn’t seem the least bit put out by my behaviour - instead he had a look of boredom on his face. Letting out a huff of air, I pushed past the male, closing my door behind me before he caught sight of my clothing sprawled out on my bed. The last thing I wanted was for some poncy elf to think I was indecisive about this trip and give him more reason to think I would be an encumbrance.

“Fine. Take me to the archery range and provide me with a bow and arrows - I’ll show you what I know.” 

I made a motion with my left hand, silently letting him know he should lead the way, and he happily moved off down the hallway with a confident step that said he knew well where the archery range was. Such a thing didn’t surprise me. Elves seemed to spend as much time in an archery range as a clubber did in a club. It suddenly came to my thoughts that perhaps this was where Legolas had been since the council, honing and perfecting his skills to prepare for the quest. Perhaps it was something I should have been doing? I’d been more worried about what I would take with me, forgetting that battles would soon be fought deep in the dwarven mines and that I might be well out of my depths - it had been awhile since my last archery practice so whom was to say I could still hit anything with any accuracy? Plus, I had never loosed an arrow at a live target ... how would I feel once I had taken a life, sure I would take the lives of orcs and goblins, but it was still a life never the less.

As I and Legolas walked along I suddenly felt tiny and idiotic - what was I thinking? I was no noble hero. I had been thrust into this world against my will, and now I had been forced into a quest that could very well be cast asunder by my very presence in it. I should have told Gandalf I wouldn’t go with them. I should have told Elrond that he was crazy as a loon for allowing this to happen. However, both of them seemed convinced that my presence was needed with the fellowship, and that I would be of some help. I hardly felt useful, and I could only hope that I didn’t make a fool of myself in the archery range. 

The whole situation was made worse when both myself and Legolas stepped out into the bright sun of the training grounds, and I saw that both Aragorn and Boromir were in the training grounds. Both men were busy moving through slow movement sets, positioning their swords in precise locations and installing muscle memory into their bodies - muscle memory that would save their lives in a fight when such memory reacted quicker than the brain might think of such movements. They were not paying any attention to our arrival, but I still felt watched as me and Legolas moved to the area set aside for archery practice. 

I took a deep breath and moved to where a few practice bows rested, taking each into my hands and stringing them up one at a time so that I might test their draw. In the end I settled on a bow made of maple, the draw felt just about right for my arm strength, but given that it wasn’t made for me personally the whole thing felt a little alien - plus I hadn’t used wooden bows in years. I was more used to composites and recurve bows, which were a whole different kettle of fish compared to traditional archery bows.

With my bow selected, I picked up a quiver of arrows and moved to stand at one spot opposite one target. The target was small, a lot smaller than I was used to, and I felt somewhat like this whole thing had been set up for me to fail. A bow that wasn’t mine, a target that was smaller than normal, and an audience of handsome gondorian men ... yeah, this was all set up so Legolas could have an ‘I told you so’ moment, and damned if I was going to let him have that moment. I notched an arrow, drew back the bow to its full draw, and took a few steady breaths as I took aim at the target. 

As I did this, I recalled on my training, noting the direction of the wind and its speed as both things would affect where the arrow would land. As I made these notes, I made a few subtle changes in my aim, taking a few more calming breaths before holding it in and loosening the arrow from the string. The arrow flew straight and hit the target with a satisfying ‘thwack’ in the second to last inner ring of the target - it was no bullseye, but given my lack of recent training I felt I had done rather well ... Legolas, however, must have had felt this was some fluke for he asked me to lose another arrow, then another, and another.

By the end of the afternoon the target was peppered with arrows, most of them centred in around the inner rings of the target. Only a couple had grazed or hit the outer rings, and I had only missed because Aragorn and Boromir had come over to see what was going on. The two men seemed quite impressed with my skills, and Boromir had tormented Legolas for not believing in Gandalf’s words on my skills - which had only made me blush because I had not expected Boromir to stand up for me.. or would that be stand up for Gandalf? Either way, I didn’t care as it had put the elf in his place and he had pouted for the rest of the day.

By the time I had retired for bed, the Elf had regretfully admitted that my archery skills were acceptable, but that I would need to train in sword fighting - something that Boromir had volunteered for in a heartbeat! I sighed as I hit the bed, by hands covering my face.

Just what had I gotten myself into? And more importantly, would I survive my training with Boromir? I could only hope that I would survive and that I did nothing stupid while in the male's company.


	6. Lessons of the Blade

The knock at my door had me letting out a low groan of discontent as it pulled me out of pleasant dreams of banana pancakes oozing in maple syrup, the sensation of my drool dampened pillow making itself known as I blinked into full awakeness. It was not exactly the most glamorous ways to wake up, especially in a place as fancy as Rivendell, and I almost wished that I could go back to sleep to make another go this waking up malarky. Sadly, the insistent knocking at the door would not allow me to fall back to sleep, and all I could do was blearily push myself up from the bed and step out of the tangle of my bedsheets. 

A quick look told me it was not yet dawn. A quiet hush and soft darkness still hung upon the lands. It was enough to make me grumble under my breath about being woken up at ‘stupid o’clock’. One hand ruffled through my sleep mused hair as I crossed the room, not even thinking twice about opening the door in my pajamas, the local postman had seen much worse when delivering my post to me in the mornings, and thus I didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed about such things. The problem was, the person who answered my door didn’t look to be used to such things. A shade of red slowly painting itself over Boromir’s face as he stood waiting at my door. Poor fellow, Middle Earth went by the rules of propriety and morality. So for him, seeing a woman in her thin pajamas was probably some kind of shameful thing.

“Oh. I apologize, my lady, I thought you would already be dressed for our sparring lesson.”

He swiftly turned away as he talked, averting his eyes to the wall as if it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. Men in my time hardly acted like this around ladies. If it had been the lecherous old man that came to the bank on Tuesdays - well, he’d have been staring at my chest by now. Boromir was the ultimate definition of a gentleman, something long dead in the modern world. I couldn’t help but to rearrange my hair as I partially closed the door so that my body was out of sight - something I did more for his sake than my own.

“It is okay. Sorry, I just didn’t think you would come to pick me up for our lesson so early. I am not a morning person.”

That was honest enough, I really wasn’t a morning person. I was used to waking up long after the sun was already up and I would have had a morning coffee by now. I had discovered, much to my disappointment, that there was no coffee equivalent in middle earth. Thus most mornings I was pretty cranky. The hobbits, bless their hearts, had learned that lesson fast and now waited until their ‘second breakfast’ to come visit me in the mornings. It made me sad to think that I wouldn’t see them this morning because of my training, and I made a mental note in the back of my head to pop in on them later in the day. Providing, of course, that I could still stand up after my lesson. I was no expert on swordplay, but I was absolutely sure that waving around a heavy sword all morning would leave me aching all over. I coughed slightly and gave him a small smile as I stepped back from my door a bit.

“Just give me a moment to dress. I will be out shortly.”

“Very well, my lady, just don’t take too long. The day is short and there is much to learn.”

His words made me cringe internally. I didn’t mind the respectful language of the world, in fact, it was kind of charming. However, I didn’t much like being called ‘my lady’ as it made me feel old. Besides, I was hardly a lady! More like a tom-boy that wouldn’t know the back or front of a dress if their life depended on it!. I had spent most of the past few days in Rivendell wandering around in the traveling pants I had requested for this trip, and this had been met with quite strong disapproval from the menfolk in Rivendell. Why, it was almost as bad as the ‘short dress’ I arrived in that Elrond loved to complain about. I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t with clothing, and I longed to feel comfortable to wear whatever I wanted without someone making a comment about my ‘unladylike’ apparel. 

With a shake of my head, I made my way toward my closet and carefully pulled out a comfortable outfit. Of course, I had to put on my now well worn and very comfortable pants. Once those were on, I then paired them up with a beige colored and loose cotton shirt. I also had my undergarments, but there was nothing worth of note to them. They did their job and provided support, and that was all I could ask for - though it would have been nice if they had a little patterning on them. Perhaps I could ask Arwen to embroider them for me? The image of the elf embroidering my bra had me giggling girlishly as I pulled on my boots and walked out into the hallway to meet a rather confused Boromir.

“What is so funny?”

“Oh. Nothing important. Shall we?”

I turned as I spoke, heading toward the training grounds. The pathway was now quite familiar to me; I had taken it upon myself to train in the archery range over the last few days, and my skill with the bow had definitely improved now that I was actually taking time to practice. This time, I would train in the sword and the thought caused a sick sensation to fill in the pit of my stomach.. 

I knew Boromir had likely trained a few men in his time given his rank as the captain of Gondor, so he would know what he was doing, but I still felt nervous that he might expect too much from me following my demonstration of skill with the bow. The sickening sensation only grew when I stepped out onto the training fields and noticed that Legolas was out there already, sitting on an overturned barrel and giving me one of his superior smiles. Clearly he was here to see me getting my ass handed to me, and I knew I would be teased mercilessly over every mistake I made. I was absolutely sure that this day was going to be the worst day in my life, and I turned my back to him as I tried to put the elf out of my thoughts.Boromir moved to look over several swords that had been laid out for people to spar with and tested them in his firm hands. Examining each for true, and weighing them up between his hands, and grunting every time he put one back that wasn’t quite right. After a few long minutes, he eventually settled on one, carefully turning the hilt in the palm of his hand as he walked toward me.

Once he was in front of me, he handed the sword to me, and I was sure I was blushing like some kind of madman when he took one of my hands into his. A pleasant warmth blossomed in the pit of my stomach as he brushed his fingers over mine with a few thoughtful sounds. His eyes were half lidded, lips pursed as he examined my hands before stepping back once I had the sword hilt held firmly in my hands.

“You have never handled a blade before. Thus, we will start with the basics - mainly how to hold the blade and the correct stance.”

I tried not to feel disappointed that this would be the content of my first lesson. In fantasy movies, the apprentice swordsman would have had his first lesson by learning a few movement combos, and I had got it in my head that he would have done the same to me. But no real life was very different apparently, and I was going to be spending my morning how to hold a sword. Thinning my lips to a firm line, I gave Boromir a nod to let him know I was ready to begin, feeling a firm resolve that I would be the best student he had ever had! As if sensing this, Boromir moved around me, his foot tapping at my feet in a silent urging for me to move them, and I was more than happy to follow his urgings.

“We start with the stance, it is your foundation. If you can’t keep your balance and move correctly, then all else will fall apart around it.”

The feeling of hot air brushed over my ear as he drifted past my right side, a brief touch of his hand on my side adjusting the tilt of my hips ever so slightly. I tried not the gulp at the sensation. I was supposed to learn, not muse, that this had suddenly become the hottest thing ever. I was here to learn, not fantasise about having his arms around me as he taught me how to handle a sword. I could hear the soft fall of his feet as he passed behind my body, his slow pace carrying him around me as he came back in front of me. He paused a moment to look at my form, my legs held shoulder length apart in a firm and yet wide stance. Nodding slightly, he then moved close to me again, hands wrapping around mine as he adjusted how I held to the sword.

“This blade is a hand and a half sword. While you can use both hands for it, you do not need to use both all the time. In time, you will learn to rely on your leading hand, with the other hand, for support in the longer swings. This takes time, confidence is the key, as is experience. Really, I would have liked more time to train you, but with our departure in a few weeks’ time we will be forced to learn on the fly ... at some point you may even have to fight.”

The poor fellow seemed worried at that thought, that he would take a warrior into battle that had not had the proper training. Heck, even in my time there was usually months and years of training before military personnel were sent to the front line. I would get three weeks at most, with some scattered lessons while out on the open road, and while I knew it would be some time before the fellowship saw active combat I was still nervous about it never the less. What if I wasn’t ready for it? I would have to be. The thought sobered me as I settled into the lesson at hand, trying to soak in everything that Boromir told me as guided me through the basic ready stance.

The hours passed quickly, or so it seemed. One moment the sun was barely in the sky, and the next time I noted its position it was high in the sky. It felt like I had been out here for barely any time at all, and yet hours must have passed. While my brain could not comprehend the passage of time, my body clearly did. Every muscle ached, and I could feel the dampness of my shirt clinging to my skin. The heat of the day and the painfully long periods of holding a sword in one position had me sweating more than I ever had in my life. I tried to put the thought of my sweat dampened clothing out of my thoughts, my arms trembling slightly as I continued to hold my sword in the position that Boromir called the ‘window guard’. Holding the sword above my shoulder level, I could feel my already taxed muscles screaming for a break. I would not give in to that desire. I wanted to succeed in this, I wanted him to be proud of me as a student. My body, however, had other ideas, and I slumped out of the stance. The tip of my blade coming to rest at the ground as I stood panting from my efforts.

“This is why women are not warriors. They don’t have the endurance for it. Look at her, she can barely hold up the blade.”

Legolas’s words cut through my pride, making me cringe slightly. Could he not see I was trying my best here? I’d never held a sword before in my life, and in my eyes being able to put up with hours of training was pretty damned good. I turned on him, ready to give the elf a piece of my mind, and to my surprise I found that Boromir came to my defense before I could even say anything to the elf.

“She is much as you and I were when we first took up the blade. Do you not remember that? Perhaps you have forgotten that feeling because of your long life. I remember it, those first few weeks where my shoulders and arms ached from holding the blade. A woman she may be, but we were no different. She is doing well for her first day and a willing student. I would ask no more of her.”

I turned to stare at Boromir, my eyes catching the look that he was throwing at the elf. The man of Gondor was giving the elf a pretty good case of the ‘stink eye’ and to his credit the elf moved awkwardly in his sitting place. I gave out a slow sigh, fingers relaxing around the pommel of the blade which felt like it was the only thing keeping me standing at that moment in time. The soft press of a hand in the small of my back had me jumping lightly, my eyes swinging round to find Boromir giving me an apologetic look.

“I am sorry to have pushed you for so hard for so long. Let us go to the kitchens and find some food,”

The mention of food had my stomach rumbling painfully, and I was more than happy to follow him off the training fields. Every step caused my thighs to scream in agony, but the pain was worth it. Today I had started to learn a new skill, and that was worth any amount of pain that it would cause my body. I had survived this first lesson, and in the weeks to come I was sure things would grow to be less taxing. Especially once my muscles grew used to being used in such a way.

For now however I ached, and as I walked with Boromir toward the kitchens I couldn’t help but hope the rest of my day would be given to resting for my next lesson in the morning.


	7. The Man of Gondor

As our training continued, the days just seemed to rocket past in a blur. Each day would pass in much the same way as the one that had come before it.

I would be awoken by Boromir just before the sun broke over the horizon, have a quick breakfast in the kitchens, and then we would make our way down to the training grounds for our lessons. In those early days the lessons had been sheer torture, I could barely keep the more physically demanding stances for more than a few minutes. But as the weeks passed, my endurance grew, and I found I could hold the blade for longer periods of time without having to take a break to catch my breath. It was now November, or as near as I could guess it to be - the chill of winter air hung in the air, and while it was sunny, it definitely was not autumn anymore.

The days were drawing in, a reminder that our care free time in Rivendell would soon end. Frodo was recovering from his injury fast, and already preparations were being made for us to leave the last homely house. I had caught Arwen and Aragorn talking in soft voices in the gardens on more than one occasion, and I blushed heavily as I thought of the one time I had caught them kissing. I had, of course, promised Arwen that I wouldn’t tell her father that I had seen such a thing, but I enjoyed teasing her about it at every opportunity that I got. I might never have a love life of my own, so I would damn well make sure I could at least be the one that tormented everyone about their own romances. 

It was so fun with Arwen; she got so easily flustered, and I just loved that the tips of her ears turned the brightest shade of red when she was embarrassed. The female was now like the sister I never had in more ways than one. She was the one I hung out with for the day once I was done with my training. While I might never come to share her love for embroidery, I could at least still enjoy the quiet moments I had with her while she had attempted to teach me. In fact, I was rather looking forward to talking to her later on in the night for another needle point lesson. I wanted more saucy details about her and Aragorn’s relationship. The pair were just so damned cute together, and I fully intended to find out how the pair had fallen in love with one another.

I took a bite from the strip of meat I was currently eating, stretching out my legs in front of me as I heard a low cough. I had almost forgotten that Boromir was beside me. We had paused in our training for a midday meal, and somewhere along the way I had gotten lost in thought. Daydreaming my mother would have called it, and it was rather embarrassing to be caught doing it by one’s teacher. 

I gave him a surprised look, trying not to choke on my mouthful of food as I raised a questioning brow in his direction. I hadn’t expected him to break the silence - usually we just ate with the comforting silence between us. An awkward cough left my throat, knowing full well that he had caught me in a daydream, and brushed a hand through my sweat dampened hair as I tried to appear as if I had been paying attention the whole time. Boromir, to his credit, knew fell well that I hadn’t actually been listening, and repeated his question as he motioned with two gloved fingers toward me.

“Your accent. For the past few moons, I have been trying to place it, but it escapes me. Where do you harken from?”

His question, to him, was a simple one. To me, it opened a whole kettle of fish. Since I had come here, I had operated under a story of Elrond’s making about me coming from a small village in Rohan. But would that fly with a man like Boromir? He was the son of the Steward of Gondor, and politically he had more cause than most to visit towns outside his own. 

How much did he know of the lands of Rohan? Of its dialects and accents? What if he knew of them all? The last thing I wanted to be caught in was a lie, but I couldn’t tell him the truth either. Elrond had warned me that not everyone would understand the magics that had brought me here, and would treat me with suspicion. I ran a hand through my hair, deciding that Elrond’s advice should be followed ... what harm could that do? Boromir would die at Amon Hen, and he would never need to know about where I had come from.

“I am from a small village of the eastern borders of Rohan. It is called Hampstead, but I am not sure if you would have heard of it. We’re a small farming community ... of no great importance to anyone,”

Boromir shifted his head as if searching his memory to recognize the name, and I found my worry growing as I noticed the confused look on his features, plus the slight disappointment. His fingers trailed over the hilt of his blade, the movements uncharacteristically nervous for someone that seemed so sure of themselves. After a moment he finally replied, his voice quiet as he responded to my explanation.

“I have not heard of a Hampstead. However, there are many places I have yet to visit outside of the white city, and I would like to see it some day. It must be a grand place indeed, especially if they all have talents such as yours,”

His compliment brought a blush to my face. I wasn’t used to people complimenting me. The manager at my bank had never had one friendly word to tell to me on anything I had ever done, and my dad had certainly said nothing positive about me. It felt odd to get told I had ‘talents’. I didn’t feel like I was any more talented than anyone else, I was just an average girl that had someone landed herself in the most dangerous situation ever. 

Shifting a little, I turned so that I could hide my blush, and found myself surprised when Boromir reached over and gently rested a hand on my shoulder. The weight effectively stopped me from moving any further, keeping me from hiding my blush from him as he looked at me in concern.

“Did I cause offense, my lady? I only wished to convey that they must be a wise people to teach their women to fight. Not all people can live beyond the great walls of the cities, protected by guards.”

Oh ... Oh ... he thought I was upset by his words. I was hardly upset. It was a more awkward feeling, the newness of it all causing my stomach to flutter with anxiety. It didn’t particularly help as I saw a movement out of the corner of my eyes, a quick glance telling me that Legolas had chosen that moment to grace the training grounds with his enormous ego. Legolas didn’t like me much, he felt me a hindrance, and had been heckling me from the sidelines during my training sessions. I had ignored him, the elf just wasn’t worth my time, and I found it rather distasteful that a prince would act in such a manner. 

Boromir however had never ignored the elf.

The man had always told the elf to go to the archery range ... because if he had time to flap his lips, then he had time to practice his archery. I had particularly liked when he had told the elf he clearly needed to do such a thing, because he was clearly losing his touch if a human female could beat him in his skill. The elf had pouted for hours after that one and had left, muttering under his breath in elvish. Why he was back again for another day was a mystery. Perhaps he was one of those people that always needed the last word in an argument? Lord forbid if I had to put up with this for the duration of the fellowship. I particularly dreaded what would happen when Boromir died - because the elf would be insufferable without Boromir acting as ‘elf repellant’

“Oh. I am not offended. I ... am just not used to compliments. We just do as we have to do to survive, and we all had to do it. And there was little time for pretty words. I wasn’t the most accomplished member of the village either, just an average woman trying to find her place in society.”

Boromir looked horrified, his brows raised and his body shifting backward stiffly as he straightened himself. The hand on my shoulder shifted, the grip loosening and then freeing me from his grasp. It didn’t leave me for long, his gloved hand coming to rest on my cheek before I could even think of moving away from him. If I wasn’t blushing before, I definitely was doing so now. I could feel the hotness in my face. The racing of my heart. In that moment I wished he would not die, that I wasn’t some woman that could change everything by daring to feel anything, and that I could allow myself to enjoy his touch. Why did he have to make it so difficult? Why did he have to look at me with those dreamy and saddened eyes?

“Don’t say that about yourself. You are the most accomplished woman I have ever met. You shoot bows and arrows with enough skill to give the elf a run for his money, and you wield the sword very well for someone a month into their training. Not to mention you can read, there are very few ladies that can do that.”

I sputtered slightly. How did he know I could read? Had someone been telling my secrets? Dammit, wasn’t anything sacred in this world?

“What ... how did you know I could read?”

It was his turn to look embarrassed, his head turning away and his hand pulling away from my cheek slightly. I could even catch the hint of a blush developing under his facial hair. Gods, the damned Gondorian even looked cute when he blushed. He gave a cough, his eyes averting to the ground as he spoke.

“I was walking through the gardens the other day. I saw you, sitting in the gardens - reading a book. I stayed a time to watch, for you looked so at ease and I had never seen you look so peaceful ... so beautiful.”

His last words trailed out into softness, as if he barely dared say the words. I barely caught them myself, and I felt my heart soar and scream all at the same time. I didn’t want the man flirting with me. I didn’t want him to say I was beautiful ... and yet I wanted him to sing my graces for the rest of the day. I detested the conflict within me, detested that I had been put into this position, and detested that I liked he thought I was beautiful. 

Me pretty? I had never caught the eye of a man before; I was far too plain compared to my female coworkers, who were all so very glamorous. It was nice to have someone notice me - even if the way he had noticed me was creepy. No wonder he looked embarrassed. He was a man of Gondor, and he had morals that clearly said that one shouldn’t stalk a lady.

“Oh. I don’t know about that, I am sure there are some hot ladies in Gondor that would make me look like a pug ... I appreciate the compliment, however.”

“I know not what a pug is my lady, but you certainly do not look like one. You speak so ill of yourself, why can you not see what I see?”

I wished he wasn’t so charming. He could take any ill word I spoke of myself and turn it into a compliment with ease. He brushed the strands of hair off my face, and I wondered what he saw in me I didn’t. He had the pick of the ladies in his world, glamorous ladies that would never have my spot prone skin, and thin lined lips. I knew that attraction was more than about looks, that personality played a big part in it. But again, I doubted I would ever measure up against the well-mannered women in the courts of Gondor. 

Perhaps he liked I was different? Whom was to say what Boromir found attractive given that he had died without wedding a woman in Tolkien’s stories. I gave him a weak smile, wondering what I was to do with the revelations of the day - I certainly couldn’t go up to Elrond and ask him what I should do. What would I say? Somehow ‘hey Elrond, I fancy a soon to be dead man and he fancies me too ... what do I do?’ didn’t sound like the best of things to say. Besides, I knew what he would say. That the quest is no place for love, that we had a task to do, and that I shouldn’t be interfering with the grand tapestry of the world.

“I ... don’t know. I just have become used to being another plain face in the crowd. After a time, you stop seeing the things that make you unique.”

I couldn’t tell him about the advertisements. The constant tirade of pictures that showed what a woman should look. The perfect skin, glamorous silky hair, and model thin body. How could anyone feel like they were beautiful when compared to that? I doubted middle earth had any kind of body shaming. Being away from that kind of thing would be good for me, and maybe I would grow to love myself again in time. 

I let out a slow breath leave me as I watched a sad expression cross over his face. I hated I had made him unhappy, but I couldn’t help but open up to him a little - he was at the very least a very close friend to me. I cautiously lifted a hand, carefully placing my palm over his own gloved palm that still hung in mid-air between us. Against his hand mine looked small, his fingers easily longer and thicker than my own, and I could feel the rough calluses on his fingers. His skin was warm, a prominent reminder that this was very real. 

The warmth stopped me from saying anything else about myself, and I got lost in his eyes as he leaned forward toward me. Was he going to kiss me? I should totally have backed off, told him I wasn’t interested ... but I didn’t. Could I deny myself a little happiness? Was it wrong to deny the same happiness to a guy that was going to die? But what if that changed something? Could I live with the pain of getting close to someone and losing them? He was tearing apart every choice I thought I had made when I had found out where I was after I had ‘died’. He was so close, so very close that I was sure I could feel warm air on my face as he exhaled in anticipation, but before anything could happen a curt voice broke the moment.

“You know she just wants you for your position, right? She is a woman of little gain ... a farmer’s daughter, I have been told. She speaks ill of herself to pull you in, poison you to her charms, and before you know it, she will take all that you have.”

I couldn’t believe the audacity of the elf. There was no bout that he must have met many women like that in his time, women that had plied him for his position, but I was hardly doing that with Boromir. It wasn’t like I had been looking for anything from him, not love and certainly not money. I’d been a woman of my own means in my world, fiercely independent, and I was happy to be a nobody - I certainly wasn’t going out of my way to be anything more than that. 

What stung the most was that he said I was a woman of little gain. It wasn’t the words; it was the way he said it ... his manner much like that of my father. I pushed myself to my feet, lifted my sword from the ground where I had left it, and walked off toward the major buildings of Rivendell. I could feel hot tears on my face, and I tried not to think of the look of satisfaction Legolas must have had had on his face. One of his insults had finally gotten a reaction out of me, and he had to be mighty pleased with himself. It didn’t come as a surprise to me when Boromir’s distant voice reached my ears, not that much later, ever my defender as he let Legolas feel the fury he felt clear in his voice.

“You know nothing, Elf. Farmer’s daughter she may be, but she holds more honor than any woman I have ever met. A prince, you may be, but treat ladies with a little more respect. It is you who has the poison in your words, seeking to bring harm where none should be given, and I hope that in time you will come to see her worth.”

The lecture he was giving the elf brought a smile to my face, but it did little to calm the pain he had caused, and the conflict in my heart concerning a certain Gondorian. A Gondorian that seemed very determined to worm his way into my heart, a heart I had wanted to lock away from this world, but already the chains were slipping and slowly breaking away. Just how long would it be before Boromir broke his way in completely? How long could I keep him at bay? I didn’t have the answers, and I wondered if I ever would have those answers.

I was alone in the world that I didn’t want to change, and yet that world wanted to change me. I didn’t want to think what would happen if those two conflicting things met - crashing together until the story was no longer as it once was. Did I have the courage to stop the crash? I really didn’t know, and I just wished I knew why I was here, because then at least I would have some idea of what I had to do beyond figuring out how to friend zone a Gondorian without breaking either of our hearts.


	8. A talk with Gandalf

It felt odd to be walking down the hallways of Rivendell on my own. 

Today I was free to do as I wished. I had asked Boromir the previous night if I could have a day to myself, and he had reluctantly agreed. I was not entirely sure why I had asked for a day free of training. The days I spent with Boromir had become a routine now, long hours that now gave structure to my life. The structure I had long missed given that I had no job to entertain myself with now. At first I had fully intended to seek out Arwen. The tension between me and Boromir was still there, and although he had yet to make another advance on me, I was sure he wouldn’t remain quiet on the subject for long. The elf had become something of a sisterly presence to me and was in a committed relationship of her own that was just as illicit as any relationship I could ever have with Boromir. Arwen was the only one in this place that I could now turn to figure out exactly what I should do about this whole sticky mess that I now faced. Running a hand through my recently washed hair, I continued my search for the elf and was most shocked when I found someone else entirely, or rather they found me.

“Ah, the Lady Freya. I have been looking for you. Why are you not training with the Lord Boromir today? For is that not where you usually are?”

The gravelly and ancient tone told me who the speaker was before I could even turn around. I had hardly spoken to Gandalf since the fellowship had been formed. In fact, I had been purposefully avoiding him. His words at the council had more than bothered me. He knew I must know more than I had been alluding to Elrond and everyone else I had met in this world. Why else would he have said that I had knowledge that would help them?. I turned and gave the old man a wary smile. If there was ever a stereotypical wizard, then Gandalf was it. He had a set of gray robes that looked older than he was. A gray pointed wizard’s hat with a wide brim, and a long beard that would make any beard grower jealous. The large staff that he held in his right hand was easily as tall as he was, the gnarled top warped around a white crystal. A low cough came from the old man, telling me he was still waiting for me to respond to him.

“Oh, I just wanted a day off. We’re leaving soon, and I wanted to explore some areas of Rivendell I have not yet seen ... in case I don’t make it back here.”

Gandalf gave me a smile, his eyes showing both amusement and concern. He gave a tap of his staff against the floor of the hallway; the wood causing a low thud against the stone flagging. There was a certain calmness to him, as if he knew what was to happen and that all would be well. I wasn’t so sure personally, for I knew how much hurt would come from his journey, and what price each member would pay for participating in the quest. What price would I pay? Would my price be the growing feeling of attraction I had for Boromir, and the eventual pain of losing him? I fixed my gaze upon the wizard. The old man was leaned heavily on his staff and had his knowing gaze settled upon me.

“My dear girl, I am sure you will see Rivendell again someday. Now come, let us find a place to sit so I can rest my weary bones.”

Weary bones my back side. The wizard was just as nimble as I was. He was just looking for an excuse to find an out of the way place where we could talk.

I gave a nod of my head, appreciating that Gandalf thought I would see Rivendell again, but also dreading what he would say to me. Would he warn me of the dangers of changing the future? Or would he make me spit up that I knew what was going to happen during this journey? Both options were equally terrifying. Especially if he did both things in the same conversation. As he walked off, I followed him, my eyes following the movement of his robes as he walked along. I couldn't believe that Gandalf was this ageless being when he still looked spry enough to be my grandfather, who still insisted on running marathons in his seventies. 

I wondered why as an immortal he looked so old when the elves looked so young in comparison. Perhaps he just wanted to look old? A ruse to make people think him harmless. It worked too. While I felt nervous about what he would have to say, I still thought that it was less terrifying than talking to Elrond about all this. Gandalf at least had a gentled and friendly face, while Elrond had a grave face and a pair of eyebrows that would put my great uncle Horace a run for his money.

After a few long moments of walking, we finally came upon our destination, a small alcove set into a wall in one of the lesser used corridors of Rivendell. The lack of smoothness to the flooring of the hallway told me that few people walked down here, which made sense as the area was one of the older areas of the city and had become all but abandoned as the inhabitants of the city took their leave of the world. With a slow sigh, Gandalf settled down onto the curved bench in the alcove, patting the spot beside me with a kindly hand. There was nothing I could do but to accept the offer, settling down into the spot that he had indicated and letting out an indistinct sound as my rear contacted the hard surface. 

Once I was settled down, Gandalf watched me from the corners of his eyes, pulling out his pipe from the insides of his robes and fiddling around with a match. It took a few strikes, but soon enough the wizard was contentedly smoking his pipe and the smell of tobacco filled the air. I had to resist the temptation to tell the wizard that smoking was bad for his health, that it was going to make his lungs go black, but I highly doubted that he would pay any attention to it. Besides, I wasn’t even sure how close the ‘weed’ he smoked was to the tobacco that humans smoked in my modern time. It smelled similar enough to my nose, and I was sure that by the end of this brief conversation I would reek of smoke.

“Now my dear. Tell me how you came to know of our secret meeting, and of this world that you come from. I think there is a book there that I am particularly interested in knowing about.”

Shit ... he knew. How did he know? Perhaps Gandalf had this ability to read people’s thoughts that Galadriel seemed to possess, but I didn’t think that he would be rude enough to use such things on me. What I wouldn’t give for some kind of brain ‘firewall’ to keep prying people from seeing my most private thoughts and worries. I ran a shaking hand through my hair, brushing the dark locks away from my face and trying not to look at Gandalf as I talked. I didn’t want to see the look on his face. The expressions would be sure to distract me from my story, and so I purely focused my gaze upon the fine lines on my palms.

“The world I come from ... we call it earth. I guess you could say it is much like your own will be in the future, full of technology that you could never dream of. There are only humans in my world. Perhaps this world will be the same in that regard also one day ... who is to say. As for how I knew of the meeting ... well, it is all covered in this book. I will not tell you much of it for fear it will change an already perilous future, but I will say that this book covers the quest to destroy the ring in great detail. How it came to be written, and how your world and mine exist seemingly at the same time I am not sure ... perhaps it’s this whole multiverse thing that scientists talk of occasionally.”

Gandalf had a thoughtful look on his face, puffing out a few circles of smoke as he did so. Then he turned and gave me a wry smile, a twinkle in his eyes.

“But my dear girl, have you not already changed the story by being here?”

I hated he was right. I had come into this not wanting to affect the story, yet here I was ... preparing myself to journey alongside the Fellowship and I had allowed it to happen. Who knew what kind of damage I had caused by doing just that! The fellowship had one more member, an imbalance for the ‘nine walkers for the nine riders’ idea that Elrond had given in the books. I pressed my hands to my forehead, fingers widening to cover as much skin as possible.

“I ... well ... yes. There was only supposed to be nine members of the fellowship. Now me being in it ... I do not know how that will change things. What if me being here causes irreversible damage?”

I chanced a look at the wizard. The kindly smile on Gandalf’s face remained, it seemed as if nothing bothered the Wizard. The world could fall down around him, and the wizard would still be sitting there smoking his pipe with a smile on his face. I had met no one like him before. Most people allowed their anxieties to rule them. Heck, even I was guilty of that. I pressed my fingers along my brow line, feeling the building tension under my fingers. Gandalf, seeing my stress, offered me his pipe. It was an offer I kindly denied. I definitely would not be picking up that habit! He didn’t seem bothered by me declining his offer, going right back to puffing on the clay pipe contentedly.

“Change can be a good thing, my dear. I do not believe you would have been sent here if your presence would cause damage.”

The words caused me to bolt upright. I had never thought of it like that before. I had been so focused on what terrible things would follow me being here. That I would cause things to fall apart. Gandalf, however, could see another side, that whatever power had brought me here would not have done so If I could ruin things. Did that mean he knew my purpose here? If he did, he certainly wasn’t revealing it to me. I ran my teeth over my lower lip, pulling at the muscles and feeling the skin stretching before I freed it from my grip. Slowly I lifted my head from the massaging tips of my fingers, feeling the lifting of all the tension and worry I had felt since I had come here.

“I suppose so ... I never thought of it like that. I can only hope you are right.”

“My dear girl, I am rarely ever wrong. You did not ask to be here, but I believe you were brought here for a reason - to make changes.”

Could that really be it? What could I possibly change within the story? From what I had read, everything had gone exactly how it was meant to have because the ring had been destroyed and peace restored to the world. I felt suddenly very old and tired, my shoulders slumping under the weight of responsibility.

“How do I judge what has to change? What if I choose wrong and it brings about a worse darkness then the one we hope to eliminate?”

Gandalf reached over, resting a hand on my shoulder as he stopped smoking his pipe for a moment.

“It is something that has to be felt from within. When the time comes, you will know of it, your heart will tell you - your people will call it a gut instinct. Trust it and it will not lead you astray.”

He gave me a wink, before sitting back into the alcove and settling into comfortable silence. He had certainly given me a lot to think about, and while comforting, it certainly hadn’t made my life any easier. My purpose for being here was still clouded under a layer of mystery that not even the wizard could pierce. I kicked at the ground with my feet, relieving the pent up tension I felt in my body and easing the numbness growing in my butt. Sitting on such a harsh surface wasn’t exactly comfortable, and I found the movement at least encouraged blood to flow back into the area.

Gandalf’s confidence in me instilled the same sense of quiet discomfort that Boromir’s pride of my sword skills did. I wasn’t used to people seeing me in such a light - that I had a use and an importance to them. I never had much in the way of positive male figures in my life, and suddenly having two was overwhelming to me.

“You’ve ... given me much to think of, Gandalf. For the time being, can we keep this between us? I am not sure the others will be as welcoming of me if they knew me to be from another world.”

A nudge against my side brought my attention back to the wizard, his lips puffing out a smoky ship as he shifted in his seat. He seemed to understand my request, his head nodding as he made his tobacco smoke sculpture and sent it flowing through the air with one last puff.

“Your past is your secret to share. Though I will advise to not keep it hidden for long, a secret while hidden can protect you awhile, but ultimately can cause great distress to those closest to us if we hide it for too long.”

His cryptic response made me wonder if he was referring to Boromir. Aside from the hobbits, it was he that I was closest to in the fellowship. He was the one I spent my days with - and it was he that my hidden secret would hurt the most. We’d grown to trust one another in our sessions, we had too given we used razor-sharp weapons in our training and could easily hurt one another in one wrong move. If Boromir learned I was hiding something from him? He might never trust me again. I suddenly felt sick, the sensation of anxiety filling the pit of my stomach as I excused myself from Gandalf’s company.

The future suddenly looked rather bleak to me, full of hard choices and terrible consequences. I wasn’t even sure if I was ready to face those things, but eventually they would find me. The future was racing toward me faster than I would have liked and in the end if I had to make the choices I would rather it was at my own choosing rather than someone else’s. The question was, when did I tell everyone else that I really wasn’t from Rohan? 

I groaned and slowly returned to my room, one hand on my forehead as I nursed my growing headache. Hopefully, I would be left alone for the rest of the day, because I certainly wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone else today!


	9. Leaving Rivendell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is edited from the original version where she claimed her father wanted her to be a lawyer, women rarely held working jobs in the 'medieval' era - especially if they were traditionally male roles. I felt that lady's maid to a noble would be a respectable and desirable position for any low-born father to push their daughter into.

No one else had bothered me that day after speaking to Gandalf. In fact, I had been left to my own affairs, and so I had spent the rest of that day lounging in the library. At first I had tried reading one of the many books in the room. However, most had been written in a local dialect of western that was familiar enough that I could read some of it, but just different enough that it gave such a massive headache that I’d given up a couple of hours in. 

Having given up on the books I had settled down into a chair to sharpen the sword that Elrond had given me, it was a rhythmic process that allowed me to gather my thoughts and had left me feeling just a little calmer about my supposed ‘fate’ in this world. It had been a day where I had grown to accept a lot of things. A day where I realized I had a purpose here. That my being in the fellowship was a good thing, and that I shouldn’t be afraid if my presence changed things. The problem was, I still felt nervous about what might occur if I chose wrong. 

What if I did something that caused the ring to fall into the hands of Sauron? It didn’t even bare thinking about. In the end, I just had to hope for the best and stick as close to the original plot as possible.

I let out a breath as I placed the last shirt into my travel pack, shaking my head out of my contemplative thoughts of what had occurred over the last few days. Today we would leave the safety of Rivendell, and while I knew this moment would come, it was still something that was paining me greatly. Rivendell had become my home, a place where I had been warmly welcomed, and a place where I had received guidance. I might have landed on my backside, but Elrond had lifted me up and helped me stand.

Of course, this was all figuratively speaking. I did not know how I had actually landed into this world, but I certainly felt as if I had landed on my rear. I’d been out of sorts for quite some time, and Elrond had helped me learn how to fit into the culture of the elves. I would miss the dark-haired patriarch of the city, and I would miss his daughter just as much. I had spent a lot of time with the pair, almost as much as what I spent with Boromir and the Hobbits. What would I do without Arwen’s giggling stories of what her brothers were like as kids? Her smile as she wistfully talked of her love for Aragorn, and her quiet calmness during those moments when I cried from homesickness. 

I wasn’t really sure what to expect from my future in this world. While Gandalf said that I would see them again, it still felt like I would see them for the very last time today. My heart was heavy, as heavy as the quiver of arrows and bow that I slipped up onto my shoulders, and heavier still than the sword that hung on my left hip. Another breath was taken in as I lifted my small travel pack onto my back and looked around the room that had become my home one more time.

There wasn’t much of note in the room. But never the less I knew it was something I would miss now that I was leaving it all behind, especially the soft bed that I had been sleeping in since my arrival. The soft mattress that molded to your body, the cool sheets, and the comfortable pillows that gave just the right amount of head support. I was going to have months of sleeping on the harsh ground now, with little more than a cloak for comfort. It was not something I was especially looking forward to. 

I gave the room one last forlorn look before turning my back to it and stepping out into the pre-dawn light that filled the hallway beyond my door. The decision to leave early had been made a few weeks earlier, and while there was a chill in the air, the morning wasn’t that uncomfortable. There was a slight bite to the air, a harsh reminder that we were traveling through the winter months, and I was quite glad for the thick cloak I had wrapped around my shoulders. It would serve me well through the coming months, especially when we took the route over the mountains and into the pass of Caradhras. That was if we still took that route, for all I know me being here would prevent the passage into the mountains! Still, there was no harm in being prepared for the eventuality of a little mountaineering.

Each step I took down the hallway sent echos bouncing off the walls. A reminder of the quiet of the city, and that few people walked the wings set aside for visitors. Most of the population of the city would be in the red halls partaking in a morning meal, and the rest would be down in the courtyard to see off the fellowship. The thought that a small crowd would watch us leave was enough for me to take a gulp, running a hand through my dark hair, hoping to make it presentable. Brushing it had done nothing to improve how my hair looked. The lack of conditioner had led to a certain amount of frizz, and there was no containing the horrible mess. I felt very self-aware of how I looked and only hoped that no one would say anything to me. 

It was with one last brush of my fingers through my hair that I stepped into the courtyard. Some gathered elves looked in my direction, a few muttering in disapproval that a woman would travel without escort with a group of males. Perhaps they thought the men would take advantage of me? Ha! I doubted that. Legolas couldn’t stand me, the hobbits considered me a friend, Aragorn already had a lady love, Gandalf was way too old, and Boromir ... well, he had been alone with me more than a few times. If the man of Gondor was going to take advantage of me, he would have done so already. 

The elves really did not give the men in the group enough credit when it came to controlling their baser needs. Thankfully, none of them made mention to my hair, and I tried to ignore the smirk that was on Legolas’ face. No doubt the elf would say something to me during the day, but for now he was behaving himself - the gathering of elves in the courtyard keeping his harsh comments at bay. I settled my hands by my side as I moved to stand next to Boromir. He at least was giving me a warm smile and seemed genuinely pleased to see me that morning. Then again, he was pleased to see me most mornings, but it was nice to think that he honestly wanted my company. Besides, if I stayed near the Gondorian, then perhaps Legolas would decide that it was best to leave me well enough alone. 

A low snort left me at the sudden thought of what all his fan girls would think if they knew what he was really like. He was hardly the charming person he was in the movies. He was more like his father from the Hobbit trilogy - a bitter man that took a particular distaste in both mine and Gimli’s presence. The only difference being that Gimli gave as good as he got. I had never been very confident in dealing with bullies; I tended to just let the whole thing fly over my head in the hopes they would leave me alone if I ignored them long enough. Feeling eyes on me, I turned to notice that Boromir was looking at me with raised brows, obviously curious about the sound I made. I simply mouthed that I would explain it later, to which he nodded his head in understanding. He then turned his gaze around from me to listen to the words of Elrond as he gave his parting speech.

“The Ring-bearer is setting out on the quest of mount doom and you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose and may the blessings of elves, and men and all free folk go with you.”

His words warmed me, and I felt we would need such blessings in spades during the duration of this perilous quest. I smiled at the elf, and he gave me a sad smile in return. It was nice to see he was just as pained as me at this parting, and I felt somewhat saddened that my time in Rivendell might one day be forgotten by the elf. Elrond was centuries old and would live many more, where my life would just be a brief blip in those long centuries. I don’t know what pained me more. That I was leaving Rivendell behind, or that the man that had made me feel welcome would ultimately forget me. Such thoughts didn’t sit with me for too long, my depression broken through by the firm words of Gandalf.

“The Fellowship awaits the Ring-bearer.”

Poor Frodo. He looked so nervous. Here he was, carrying a ring of ultimate evil, and all I could think about were my petty insignificant problems. If anyone could feel depressed and uncertain, it was him. To help him in this quest, I would have to pull myself together because it wouldn’t help him if I was falling apart over my own anxieties all the time. 

As the hobbit walked forward through the arches of the last homely house, we all stepped to follow him. Each member lost in their own thoughts as we took those first few steps out of Rivendell, each having their own memories of the place and silently musing over what it meant to them. While some would remember it as a place of safety, there were only two that would have a special fondness of the place. Both myself and Aragorn had ties to the place. He had his love for Arwen, and I had a substitute family ... or so I considered Arwen and Elrond to be. I’d never know if they saw me the same way, or if I was just a helpless stray that Elrond felt inclined to help. The topic had just never come up, and perhaps that was for the better. A nudge of someone’s elbow against my side jolted me out of my thoughts, and I turned to fix a glare at the perpetrator. Imagine my embarrassment when I found it was Boromir I was scowling at.

“You should not be so sad. There are many places in this world just as beautiful as Rivendell. When you see my city, you will be taken aback by its beauty. Sunlight shining off pure white walls, and banners flying proudly in the breeze. Ah, my lady, you will love it! Elves can’t hope to mimic such fine architecture.”

His passion for his city was almost contagious. He felt a great pride at being a man of Gondor, and why wouldn’t he? The white city I had seen in the movies was every bit as beautiful as he was claiming it to be. But it wasn’t the beauty Rivendell that I was going to miss the most ... that much he had gotten very wrong indeed.

“I ... am not sad about leaving the city ... it’s just ... well. Arwen has become a close friend, and Elrond is the first male in my life to show an active interest in teaching me. He has almost become a father figure. I ... will miss them.”

The firm weight of Boromir’s hand rested on my shoulder, comforting in its warmth. He was quiet for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. The quiet was soon broken by my companion’s soft voice, his face set into a mixed expression of confidence and calm understanding as he walked beside me, a soothing presence that assured me that everything would be okay.

“I am sure they will miss you too, but you belong among your own kind. What about your family? I am sure they miss you as well. What of your parent?”

Oh great, he just had to bring my parents into this total mess. I didn’t really want to discuss my torn family life with the man, and yet his warm presence made me want to share with him. He of all people would understand what it was like to have an uncaring father. Still, it pained me to talk of such private things with someone that I barely knew - especially when I had to twist the facts of my life into painful white lies so that it fit into this very medieval world. 

“My father ... he doesn’t deserve to be called thus by me. He had me educated, and pushed me hard in my studies to be a lady’s maid to some noble woman, and my own feelings didn’t even equate into it. When I failed at the calling he’d shoved upon my shoulders, he treated me worse than the dirt on his shoes ... he disowned me, saying I was no daughter of his. I am not sure where he is now, we haven’t spoken in years. As for my mother ...”

I lost my voice at that, the surge of emotions causing me to choke up. I hadn’t thought of my mother for a while now. The thought of her, at home, crying in grief after losing her only child in a tragic accident was too much to bare. We had grown close over the last couple of years, and I had enjoyed those rare moments where she showed her pride and love towards me. Not that she would ever show those emotions in front of the heartless Craig. She had loved the man too much, had made far too many excuses for her husband’s actions over the years, and I still sometimes found it hard to accept just how two faced my mother could be. I could feel the firm pressure of Boromir’s fingers closing around my shoulder as he heard my words, his soft words carrying a slight edge of sadness to them.

“Freya. I am sorry ... I didn’t mean to cause such discomfort at bringing such painful memories back to you. If it would make you happy again, then I would do everything in my power to make sure you come back to Rivendell again some day.”

He was a man of great honor, and a bigger heart than I thought he might have under that rough-and-ready outer shell. I could see how such a man could hold the hearts of his people, and how he could lead those same men into battle and carry them to great victories. He had an honest caring for those under his care and protection, and I felt warmed to know that all he wanted was to make me happy again. If only he could hold true to those words. Dead men couldn’t keep their promises ... and they certainly couldn’t bring me back to Rivendell someday. 

All I could do was nod silently to his words, not wanting to reveal to him he shouldn’t be making promises he couldn’t keep. Boromir didn’t need the painful knowledge that he was going to die on this journey, and it was a secret that would eat me alive over the coming weeks. Part of me felt like he deserved to know that his life on this earth was short, but the other part of me said that he didn’t need to know. He was going to die in battle, a glorious death that many men in this world would consider the ultimate glory in this life. If I told him what was to happen, then would he do anything different? Likely not. He would still go to help the hobbits, and he would die never the less. 

So I kept my lips shut, and my head turned down to the ground.

Thankfully Boromir didn’t press the matter, accepting that my continued quietness was purely because I was still upset about my family. He kept his gloved hand on my shoulder as we walked, the pressure a soothing one as we followed the path out of Rivendell and into the wilds beyond. At first the path was smooth and well trodden from frequent use, but as time passed, the path turned from a well-compacted surface to nearly non-existent. By the time the path completely failed to exist, we had already put many hours behind us, and Boromir had relinquished me of his hold. 

The cool winter’s breeze drifted past us, pulling at loose clothing and causing our cloaks to billow out behind us. If anyone were to walk past us, then I was sure we would make for quite a heroic sight, and my heart ached as I remembered the swelling music that had accompanied this moment in the movies. Homesickness came in waves now, hitting at random moments and leaving me missing even the simplest of things. Oh, how I missed ordering a pizza and having a Lord of the Rings movie marathon with a big blanket wrapped around my shoulders. 

I let out a discontented grunt as we followed our route through the mountainous regions that surrounded Rivendell. It was a path that was quite taxing on someone like me who had never been on long hikes before, never mind walking in mountainous terrain. The rocky ground, coupled with the cool winter air, caused everything to be more of a struggle than it really was. I was huffing and puffing by the midpoint of the day, and by nighttime I was flat out exhausted.

When we did finally set up our camp, I allowed myself to drop to the ground. My feet were throbbing in my boots, and my knees ached horribly as the chill crept into my joints. I trailed a hand through my long hair, listening with tired ears as night watches were decided upon. If I hadn’t been so damned sleepy I would have argued to take a watch of my own, but I could barely keep my eyes open, let alone stay awake long enough to take a watch. 

Before I even knew it my eyes had closed, and I had fallen into a deep dreamless sleep.


	10. Into the Wilds

The first few days travelling in the wilds of middle earth had to have been among the hardest I had ever lived so far in my entire life. 

I was far from being the most physically fit person. Modern life had a propensity for being a mostly sedentary affair, and it wasn’t like I had ever changed that fact. Public transport had made it far too easy to avoid any kind of physical activity - you just popped on a bus and let it do all the legwork for you. Middle Earth was a few thousand years away from inventing the bus or any kind of combustion engine fuelled vehicle, and that was if they ever invented them at all. 

Moping about the lack of modern conveniences had helped distract me from my throbbing feet for a while at least, but the relief was short-lived for as soon as my thoughts drifted back into the moment I became all too aware of the pain once again. Each step felt like I was walking on hot coal, and I was sure that when I checked my feet later that night I would have an impressive selection of blisters to show for my pain.

My poor mood wasn’t helped by the fact that everyone around me was relatively fresh faced despite the many miles we had already put behind us. Mostly they were used to this kind of hardship. Aragorn was a ranger that had travelled the wilds most of his life, Boromir was a battle hardened warrior that had experienced far worse than a stroll through the wilds, and I doubted if Legolas knew what tiredness felt like for such a thing seemed beyond the knowledge of the elves. Even the hobbits seemed to fare better than I was, and they had to be some of the least travelled members of the original fellowship.

Pippin was positively skipping along beside me, obviously pleased to be out on the road rather than sitting around in Rivendell being bored out of his brains. The mischievous hobbit was a free spirit that wanted to see the world now it had been revealed to him, and I couldn’t help but feel that he might be the ‘Took’iest member of the Took family that had ever existed in the shire. I hoped he would always be as happy-go-lucky as he was now, I would hate to see his indomitable spirit broken during this harsh journey. 

I couldn’t help but feel that like Pippin I was happy to be out of Rivendell despite my pains, this was a new world and despite my pains I couldn’t help but enjoy the fact that I was getting see just a small portion of it. The cool feeling of the wind on my face carried with it an abundance of unfamiliar smells for me to experience, and the stunning landscapes that passed us by at a leisurely pace filled my heart with a sense of longing to explore that endless horizon. Middle Earth was so much more beautiful than the pained world that I had once lived in. Yes, I could see the occasional ruin in the lands that said that men had perhaps once lived here, but the level of destruction that had been wrought on my world by humans did not exist here in the slightest. There were no power lines, no roads, no sprawling suburbs encroaching into the wilderness, and certainly no light pollution.

I could still remember the first night I had stayed awake long enough to admire the beauty of the night sky. A million specks of dazzlingly bright stars had speckled the inky black darkness of the night sky, and I had spent an hour just basking in their presence as I tried to spot familiar constellations. Heck, the night sky was so unspoiled that I had even seen the band of stars that signified the ring of the galaxy their world floated within. I had been so completely awed by the profound sight of the cosmos above me I had cried, poor Boromir had been at a complete loss to understand why I had been so affected by the stars, and all the man could do was to hold me as I shed tears of grief for a world that had been killed by the ravages of industrialisation.

I let out a breath, watching the carefree hobbit and wished that I could unburden myself of my pains and be as content as the young male beside me seemed to be. The near constant aching of my feet dragged my mood down with every step, but I would never openly admit to the pains I felt for fear that the elf would use them against me. Legolas had been a constant brooding presence right at the edges of my vision for almost a week now, lurking like a highly sprung cat waiting for his prey to make one wrong move, and I was sure that the moment I complained of my pain he would leap on that opportunity to proclaim that this quest was no place for a weak woman.

Never would I give the elf such a pleasure, I was determined to prove that just because I was a woman it didn’t mean that I was weaker - I could take just as much punishment as the menfolk if I put my mind to it. So I kept up the tortuous pace, waiting for the day when my feet would finally become accustomed to life on the open road.

“Freya, how are you finding life on the road. I can quite imagine you find all this quite extraordinary for one that once lived in Rohan,”

Boromir’s voice from my right-hand side reminded me of the fact that I had company as I walked. The man of Gondor had not left my side since we had left Rivendell, and I found I had quite enjoyed his company, for he often talked of Gondor. It was nice to hear the man talk so fondly of the city, wistfully reminiscing of its beauty and the people that lived within it. Every so often he would talk about his brother, a brilliant smile on his face as he talked of the ‘Ranger of Ithilien’ in animated tones that spoke of his great love for his sibling. It was rare for him to talk of his father, and when did he mention him it was in a grim and sharp tone that told me his relationship with Denethor was strained. Boromir might well be his favourite son, but that didn’t make Denethor a loving father that wanted what was best for his children - he was every bit the cold and calculating man that he had been portrayed as in the movies. 

“It’s... Tough. When I came to Rivendell, it had been the first time I had ever left my home, for I had rarely travelled beyond the borders of Hampstead before that. I find the world overly large, and it makes me feel all too small... I never imagined that so many leagues of untouched and unspoiled land could exist within the world,”

I could see his warm smile out of the corners of my eyes. The whites of his teeth flashing in the bright mid-morning light. He had this way of making me feel at ease, that I could do no wrong, and for a time I forgot about the worries that sat upon my shoulders.

“You’ve not talked much of your home. What is Hampstead like?”

Cold filled me as he asked me about one time home. I had so far avoided talking about my past with him, skirting around the issue like a ‘wild’ ice skater avoiding the thinnest portions of ice on a newly frozen lake. Gandalf had warned me I shouldn’t keep my secrets from my friends for too long, that it would only cause pain, but that didn’t make revealing those secrets any easier. Boromir was naturally curious about me, all too eager to learn everything there was to know about my life, and I didn’t think he would stop asking about my past life no matter how many times I avoided the subject. A deep breath was taken in as I searched for that thin portion of ice, the one where I could be honest with him without revealing too much about my past, and shook my head as I wondered how long I could keep this up for. 

“My time in Hampstead was not a pleasant one, and I find talking about it to be extremely distressing. I worry that if I was to openly share certain elements of my past, it would distance me from what few friends I have within the fellowship.”

Boromir frowned deeply at my words, and I was sure that I could hear Legolas stifling a laugh at the very edges of my audible range. The elf had arguably the best ears in the fellowship, and here he was using them to listen to other people’s private conversations that had absolutely nothing to do with him. The landscape was pretty enough, but that didn’t mean it was safe, and I felt the elf could make better use of his talents listening out for whatever threats lurked within the wilds. He reminded me of a young teenager with a genius intellect that could serve him well if he applied it in the right way, but preferred to focus himself on petty gossip and hatred instead - with luck the quest would force him to grow up a bit. 

“I have known you a couple of months now, there is very little you could say that would shock me thus. Your father. Did he ... force himself upon you?”

I spurted at such a horrific suggestion, what had I said that would give the Gondorian that idea. Perhaps I had pained too dark an image of my father over the last month or so. 

“What? No! Nothing like that. My father was not the best of influences in my life, but he wasn’t one to abuse a blood relation.”

Shaking my head, I shifted a step closer toward the Gondorian. Perhaps it was time to test his claim that there was little I could say that would shock him, besides I was fed up of skating that thin line of half truths and little white lies that had become such an integral part of my life of late. I had to tell Boromir the whole truth of my past now, because the longer I waited the more it would hurt the one true friend that I actually had within the fellowship, and the last thing I wanted was to drive a wedge of distrust between us that might never be healed. I ran a hand through my hair, then reached up to rest it on his shoulder so that I could give a silent askance for him to stop a moment - something he willingly did. Pushing myself to my tiptoes, I drew in close to him so I could whisper into his ear, and I was sure I could feel the man quivering beneath my palm as I did so.

“Can we discuss this later ... away from the others? I feel they would not like what I have to say and want to keep it between us if we can.”

He nodded in silent understanding of my request as I pulled back from him, and we settled back into a comfortable walk before the rest of the fellowship got too far ahead of us.

“I will find you when it is your turn for night watch.”

I gave an anxious nod of my head as Boromir set the time and place for our little talk. My nerves jangled most noisily in my head, leaving me feeling completely on edge as I wondered if I was making the right choice here by telling him the truth. I longed for the day to drag on indefinitely, that the night would never arrive so that I wouldn’t have to reveal the awful truth of my past to my closest friend. Time, however, had a horrible way of passing quickly when you didn’t want it to do so. In my case, the rest of the day positively flashed by me at a breakneck speed. 

As I watched the darkening of the surrounding sky, I could only hope that Boromir would be true to his word, because I didn’t know what I would do if I lost his friendship. 

All I could do was place my faith in him, the rest would be in his hands once the truth was out.


	11. The truth comes out.

Night had settled into a quiet stillness around us, a cold biting wind causing a shiver to settle deep within my bones as I pulled my thick cloak around my body.

I turned my gaze briefly to look back at our primitive camp for the night, the meagre light of the fire providing warmth for those that had laid down nearest to it. I could tell by the small size of a few of those bodies that it had been the hobbits that had opted to partake in this small luxury tonight. Their bodies curled up in their robes with only the bottoms of their feet open to the elements. Gandalf and Aragorn sat slightly away from the fire, but still near enough that it cast a pale orange light upon their drawn faces. They looked so serious and completely lost in thought as each nursed the thin necks of their pipes between their lips. As for the elf, I wasn’t entirely sure where he was. All I knew was that he’d volunteered to check the road ahead for danger, and I appreciated the break from that intense icy gaze of his.

I leaned my body in against the rock that I had chosen for my watch point. The rough surface of the rock still kept some of the heat it had absorbed during the fairly sunny day, and I found it was just warm enough to chase away the worst of the shivering that had settled in my muscles. My gaze pulled away from the flickering light of the fire to stare out into the darkness of the world around me, the beat of my heart drumming like some wild beast behind my ribs as I watched the first stars glimmering into life against the growing darkness of the night sky. My anxieties about the talk I would have with Boromir had grown over the day, and that nervous energy was now at a fevered pitch that left me feeling like I’d run a marathon. 

An hour passed by at a leisurely pace as I watched a pale crescent moon rise over the horizon of the sky, and I almost jumped out of my seated position against the rock when I heard the shifting of dried leaves and grass beside me. I’d been so lost in thought that I hadn’t even noticed that Boromir joined me at my post, the pale moonlight illuminating a smile that rested on his face. The Gondorian looked most amused that he had caught me off guard so easily, and I tried my best to not blush fiercely as a pair of sparkling pale eyes caught my own.

Damn, why did he have to smile at me in such a charming way that caused my heart to flutter in excitement. 

“I apologize. I did not mean to startle you ... I just thought it was best to sneak over so not as to draw prying ears.”

I appreciated he was doing his best to keep our conversation as private as possible, though it would have still been nice if he had given me some kind of warning that he was approaching. I motioned with my head for him to come sit beside me, and he did so with a low grumble that said he was pleased to finally take the weight off his feet. His warmth was a welcome break from the chill of the night, and I shifted my body as close to his as I dared without giving him the wrong idea. The last thing I wanted was to lead the poor man on, I’d accepted that I was extremely attracted to him, but as yet had not decided what I wanted to do about my growing feelings for the man.

“It is okay, I should have been paying more attention rather than daydreaming,”

It was the truth, I really should have been paying more attention to my surroundings. What if Boromir had been an orc or some other creature of ill ilk? We would have all been dead and it would have been my fault. Boromir waved off my harsh words with a casual flick of his right hand, those brightly sparkling eyes of his focusing out into the distance as his breath escaped his lips in a white plume.

“You’ve had a lot on your mind these last few days, and I have noticed that you have been more distant than usual. What is bothering you?”

Boromir did not wait around. He went right to the point of the matter, and I felt I was getting a faint glimpse of what he was like as the steward’s son back in Gondor. I lowered my head into my hands for a moment, flexing my fingers against my scalp to ease my anxieties, and silently wishing once again for a brief respite from having to tell my story. Logic told me I would only make things worse for myself if I had that respite, but that didn’t make it easy for me to listen to my brain when my nervous system was telling me to run the heck away from this conversation. A deep breath was taken in as I tried to calm my nerves, tucking my aching legs under my body so that I was more comfortable, and lifting my head out of my hands so that I could look over at Boromir who had an expectant expression on that handsome face of his.

“I ... do not know where to begin. I suppose I should start with the request that you are not too mad at me,”

He frowned, the expression not one that I had seen often on his features over the last couple of months. Boromir could be serious when he wanted to be, though I rarely saw that side of him, for he only ever had a look of contented calm on his face, and a smile on his lips whenever he was in my company. 

“Why would I be mad? You’ve done nothing that would cause me offense,”

“But I have done something that would cause offense. Remember when you asked about my accent, and I told you I was from the eastern borders of Rohan? Well, that was a lie.”

I didn’t dare look at him, I could feel how tense he was even at my current respectable distance from him, and I didn’t want to see the disappointment that was sure to be on his face. As much as I hated this, I had to continue with my story. He deserved to know the truth about where I had come from.

“You can look on any map of Middle Earth, and you would not find Hampstead marked upon it, not because it is a small village, but because it isn’t even in this world. I come from a planet that was simply called Earth by the people living on it, I’m still not entirely sure how I came to be here in Middle Earth, and have given up hope of ever solving that mystery or of returning to the place I once called home.”

The faint breeze against my skin was calming, a distraction from the male that sat in such sullen silence beside me. I could tell he was mulling over the information that I had just given him, and I felt terribly vulnerable. I wanted him to say that it was okay, that he forgave me, but he just sat there in silence - which was infinitely worse to me. I felt the gnawing desire to fill that silence, so I just continued with my story.

“Regarding my father, he truly was a self entitled little git that pushed me to be something I wasn’t. He was a blue-collar worker with ideas of grandeur, but no desire to achieve it under his own steam - so he tried bullying me to become a lawyer so he could live a cosy life off my earnings. Oh, how he hated when I went into banking ... wouldn’t stop going on about how embarrassed he was to have fathered a failure, and that I should have been doing more to look after my ‘dear old father’ in his old age. Mother just went along with it all, she’s completely in love with the man, and makes all kinds of excuses for him when he says hurtful things. My mum isn’t a bad person, she loves me in her own way, but just finds it hard to express that love when in the presence of my father ... our relationship improved a lot after I moved out of the family home.”

I choked up as I thought of my mother, my eyes wandering upward to the heavens as I wondered what she would be doing now. Was she staring into the night sky back on earth as she prayed for the soul of her dear departed daughter? She was sure to have gotten news by now that my airplane had crashed, and that everyone on it was assumed dead, but would she ever accept that as truth? Grief did odd things to people, it was said. What if my mother was still hoping that I was alive on some desert island waiting for help? It hurt to even think of it.

“Elrond told me to keep all this a secret, that by telling people about my origins I would open myself up to suspicion and hatred. Then I met Gandalf in Rivendell. There was no hiding what I was from that prying mind of his, and he warned me most heartily that keeping secrets would only cause pain to those closest to me. I know I might seem it, but I am not a brave woman Boromir ... the thought that I have to tell my friends about my origins has filled me with crippling terror these past few days. ”

I wrapped both my arms around my legs, pulling them up to my body for comfort, and resting my head lightly on top of my kneecaps. I didn’t like that Boromir was still deathly quiet, his stormy eyes staring out into the vast void of the world. His stern face was hard to read, but the firm set of his jaw was enough to tell me he was finding all this information hard to grasp. I must sound like an absolute mad woman to him, talking about some other world beyond his own, and my heart felt beyond heavy as I reached out to take his free hand into my own. Boromir didn’t pull away from my touch, his stiff fingers softening to slightly curl around my palm, and I felt heartened because my words hadn’t scared off the man just yet. 

“I’ve never questioned myself so much in my entire life. I don’t know what to do or say anymore Boromir, and all I want to do is go back home ... at least there I didn’t have to worry about if my presence in this journey is going to change the future or not.”

Oh shit, I hadn’t intended to reveal to him I knew all about the future fate of the fellowship. That had been something I had planned to keep to myself indefinitely, but the truth was out now and I could feel those large fingers of his stiffening once again beneath my palm. He looked beyond pale as his eyes moved from the darkness of the night to catch my own, a dozen questions blooming into life in those grey depths of his, and I felt a growing sense of anxiety as I took in the twitching corner of his lips that said he wasn’t as calm as he appeared to be. I didn’t blame him for being angry at me, I’d hidden so much from him since we had met and he deserved to be treated better after treating me with such utter kindness whilst in Rivendell.

“You ... are a seer?”

“Not exactly. In my world there is a series of books that tell the story of the Fellowship of the Ring, they were written by a great author long before I was born, and are held in high regard as the best fantasy series ever written. At one time I could have told you exactly what had happened to the fellowship, would have smiled and told you of the eventual fate of the kingdoms of middle earth, but now I am not so sure what he future holds. There is no tenth walker in that novel, not even mention of a Freya in Rivendell that met the fellowship, and I’m beyond terrified that my mere presence is enough to change the fates of the world.”

My free hand tangled deep into my hair, feeling stupidly small and vulnerable - as if I was a five-year-old child once again that had just admitted to her father that she’d broken a priceless family heirloom. His hand was pulled for my own with surprising gentleness considering that stern look on his darkened features, and for a moment I thought the Gondorian would go storming off into the darkness of the night cursing me out for repaying him in such a dishonourable way after earning his complete trust. Instead, the weight of a heavy arm was wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me in closer to his warm body and I couldn’t help but flush despite the desire to yell at him he really ought to be more angry at me than he actually was. 

“I can see why you might keep such things hidden from me, that is a terrible burden to bear for someone as young as yourself.”

I scoffed lightly at his words.

“Young? I’ll have you know I am going to be twenty-six this summer.”

My face flushed as I realised that to him I must still seem very young indeed, he was almost seventeen years my senior and perhaps even double that in spirit given how rough his life had been compared to my own. Boromir lifted a brow at my rather uncouth language, and I couldn’t help but let out a low giggle despite the seriousness of the conversation we were currently having. The hand that had been so tangled in my hair moments ago released its grip as my anxieties faded, the Gondorian hadn’t run off despite what I had told him, and seemed happy as ever to be the pillar of support that I so badly needed in the world right now.

“You look far younger, I thought you had not seen twenty summers when I first saw you.”

I playfully batted the back of my hand against his shoulder, feeling the harsh metal of his chain shirt that laid beneath his outer clothing, and shaking my head slightly to dispel the blush that had settled on my cheeks.

“You old charmer, you know all guys say that to put them in good standing with the ladies right?”

Boromir’s lips quirked into a part smile, watching me from the corners of his eyes as he moved that gaze back to the darkened landscape of the world, and I could have sworn I saw an almost flirtatious glimmer in those eyes of his as he relaxed once again. I’d laid open all of my darkest secrets, put my complete trust in him, and he’d remained true to his promise that he wouldn’t be overly mad at me. He was loyal to a fault, would stand by my side regardless of what I did or what I said, and I realised in that moment that there would be no other man in this world that would hold such a firm hold on my heart.

“Does it ever work in their favour?”

My head wobbled in a slight ‘maybe’ gesture at his question, allowing my tense muscles to relax so that I was more slouched in against his side, and couldn’t help but note just how safe I felt in the protective circle of his muscular arm. I still wasn’t sure if he was actively trying to woo me, or if he was just trying to steer the conversation in a more light-hearted direction to make me smile again. Either way, I didn’t care, for it was certainly helping to slow my heart rate and chase away the worst of the anxiety that had settled in my brain.

“I saw a guy try the technique on my friend last time we went clubbing, which would be a great dance in this era, but I digress. The man tried to gain her affections by flirting with her in such a manner, and she most heartily made her displeasure known. She had just turned twenty-three at the time and didn’t want to be mistaken for a little girl anymore. I was completely mystified by her behaviour, I still hadn’t figured out how to get a guy to look my way let alone flirt with me, and couldn’t see why she’d turn someone down that was so obviously interested in her.”

Boromir let out a sound that showed his amusement that such words might land one in poor standing with a woman. And I found my thoughts wandering to the question of how courtship in this world worked. Had my companion used such words to woo a lady in the past? I doubted it, given he had asked if such methods worked to gain the affections of a fair maiden - not to mention he was a steward’s son, he likely didn’t lower himself to ‘uncivilised’ flirations that often. Boromir gave off such a strong aura of ‘chivalric knight’ that it left me in no doubt that the women of my era would eat him alive for breakfast - poor soul wouldn’t know what had hit him if he dared to open a door for a passionate feminist.

One grey eye moved to lazily watch me from the corner of his vision once again, his lips pursed most seriously as he contemplated something for a good long while - as if he was strategizing the best war plan to follow before a fierce battle. His palm lifted from my shoulder to trail his gloved digits through my hair, drawing a low grumble of content from my lips as I pressed my scalp back into his palm with half-closed eyes, and more than enjoying the way my body warmed as he lowered his head so close to my own that I could almost feel his breath against my neck.

“And what if one had looked your way, what might he do to gain your affections?”

His voice was low and sultry against my ear, drawing an extended shiver from me that no longer had anything to do with the cold, and I fixed the male beside me with a wide-eyed expression of genuine surprise. The question might sound entirety hypothetical on the surface, but I knew with no doubt that Boromir was making his interest known, for his voice held a hopeful edge to it that his affection hadn’t been misplaced. Not only was he not angry with me, but he was still willing to continue exploring whatever was building between us. I didn’t know if I wanted to cheer for joy at the knowledge he still felt love for me or yell at him, he shouldn’t even be looking at me right now after what I’d done to him.

“He remains the man that he already is, a loyal companion that stands by my side no matter what happens in the world. There are going to be times I will have to keep secrets, not out of a desire to hurt those I care about, but out of a desire to keep this quest on it’s predetermined course. I am going to need such a man to understand that, no matter how desperately bad things get, I would never willingly lead us to our deaths.”

My throat tightened as realised that I shouldn’t be making that promise given that sticking to the path the fellowship had followed in the book would eventually lead to his death, and I would be the one that had willingly allowed him to meet such a fate. I entwined my fingers with his larger ones, wanting nothing more than to feel just how very alive he was right now, and tried to chase away the thought of him laying dead and broken in the ruins of Amon Hen.

For now, all I wanted to focus on was just enjoying the warmth of his body against my own as he kept me company for the rest of my watch.


	12. The Ring goes south

The sound of evening bird softly drifted on a gentle breeze, inviting me to listen to that melodic song and relax for a moment. Oh, how badly did I want to give into that desire, to take the weight off my aching feet and indulge myself in whatever meal Sam was cooking for the night. A muscle in the middle of my shoulders twitched from the effort of holding my sword, the edge of the blade gleaming in the amber light of the setting sun. The high guard positions still required a lot of effort on my behalf, my muscles not quite having the endurance that I might like despite a month of practice.

“Two.”

What angle of attack was that again? I frowned as my eyes scanned Boromir’s body, admiring the golden glow of his skin in the setting sun. His sword was held in a loose guard against his left shoulder, stance wide as he waited to parry the expected strike. Oh right, yes ... ‘two’ was an overhead swing that targeted the left shoulder. I grunted as my weight was shifted to my leading foot, moving in as I brought my sword down in a swift arc toward his right shoulder. Boromir moved with the swift assurance of a highly trained warrior, easily parrying aside the strike with a stern expression on his face.

“Good, again.”

We’d been at this a good two hours by my estimation, making the same strike repeatedly. Boromir had said that it was important for me to learn muscle memory, because if I froze up on the field of battle it would be my training alone that would save me. My muscles quivered as I settled back into my guard stance, taking a deep breath as I tried to ignore the aches and pains in my body. Now that we were on the open road I was pushing myself harder, determined to be ready to fight by the time we reached Moria and still struggling with that desire to lead the fellowship on a different route.

But what other alternate route could there possibly be given our destination? We were already too far south to take The High Pass, and I didn’t fancy getting attacked by the denizens of the Goblin Kingdom on that treacherous route. The Gap of Rohan could be an option, but it was far too risky to take that route with Saruman watching it. I tightened my grip around the leather pummel, wondering if it was worth influencing the fellowship to head directly to Moria. Taking the route up the Pass of Caradhras had been a fruitless endeavour in the movies, but what if me being here had changed that once certain fate?

The cool sensation of the flat of a blade pressed against my side brought me out of my swirling thoughts. My eyes followed the length of Boromir’s blade, up his arm and fighting a headed blush of embarrassment as my eyes caught his. The Gondorian had a look on his face that said he was both amused and disappointed that I had allowed myself to get distracted. One thing I had learned about the male since I had met him, was that he took our lessons seriously indeed. This wasn’t something we were doing to pass the time, this was a matter of life or death.

“The enemy won’t stay their hand, Freya. Quiet your mind and focus.”

How did one quiet their mind? I was so used to letting my anxieties and worries rule the roost that I didn’t know how to shut my brain up. A frustrated grunt left my nose as I tried to refocus myself, trying to push my worries to the back of my mind for now.

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have the fate of the world resting on your shoulders.”

I flinched at the sound of my own harsh tone. Boromir was only trying to help, and here I was taking all my current frustrations out on the poor soul. My sword was lowered down from its high guard stance, a long sigh escaping my lungs as I dropped my eyes to the ground. The soil here was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, a worthy distraction from my embarrassment. It was made of loose dirt, inter-spaced with hardy grasses and dark green mosses. My boot was trailed through the soil, watching the tanned dust as it settled over the leather surface of my boot.

“I’m sorry, Boromir. Can we take a break? I’m beyond exhausted and can’t focus.”

The sound of heavy footfall reached my ears, and I blushed as I realised I didn’t even need to look up to know who it was that had walked toward me. Boromir had a very distinctive gait, a rhythmic sound of jostling mail that spoke of a powerful stride. It was getting to where I was so familiar with his stride, that I could pick out a slight scuff with every other step. There was no outward sign that the Gondorian had been touched by his life of war. He moved with as much fluid grace as any other in the fellowship. But I was now so intimately familiar with Boromir, that I was picking up on the kinds of minor details that spoke of past injuries.   
“The blame is all mine, I should not have pushed you so hard after a long day on foot.”

I sighed as I lifted my eyes from the ground, allowing myself to look at the Gondorian once again, and found my blush deepening as I noted the expression of deep concern that he wore on his handsome features. Boromir was always so eager to take the blame, a selfless soul that hated the fact he had to keep up the relentless pace of my lessons. My head shook as I sheathed my sword, my fingers trailing over the pummel once the weight had settled on my left hip.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. I was the one that insisted we train for another hour, remember?.”

His lips quirked ever so slightly at the corners, the pale depths of his eyes warming as a look of pride made itself briefly known. It must be so hard for him to fight between those two parts of himself, to have that constant desire to dial things back a bit, but also insanely proud that I had risen to the challenge. He moved to sheath his blade, a graceful movement that I hoped to master soon enough, and offered me the crook of his arm.

“Indeed, you did. I feel as though some great danger soon approaches, for I doubt my lady would push herself so hard if the road ahead was safe. I understand your desire for secrecy, but it would ease the concerns of this old warrior if you were to share some of your foresight with me.”

I slipped my hand into his arm, curling my fingers into the beautiful maroon fabric of his shirt, and absent-mindedly tracing the finely stitched golden pattern work on the hem. Should I share with him? It seemed a terrible idea to have someone other than me know the fates of the world, but this was a burden that I felt I could no longer bear on my own. Boromir was a steward’s son. He understood the politics of the world better than I did. He also knew most painfully what it was like to have impossible decisions thrust into your hands, to know that one poor decision on your behalf could kill people under your care.

“We spill blood in five days, provided I keep us on our predetermined course, that is.”

Everything seemed in flux, and I still didn’t know if this journey would follow the events of the movies or the books. Would we walk unchallenged to Caradhras, or would a pack of wolves attack us at it's base?. So far it appeared to be following the events of the movies, for Boromir hadn’t sounded the Horn of Gondor on the way out of Rivendell, and I constantly worried that minor difference meant that I’d caused significant damage to the story already. I allowed Boromir to lead me back toward the group, pulling my lower lip between my teeth to distract myself from the disapproving look that was currently being given to me by Legolas.

The fellowship wasn’t blind to the fact that I spent most of my time with Boromir, and that something had drastically changed in our dynamic in the last two days. I guessed that to an outsider our hushed conversations must seem most intimate indeed. I didn’t blame the group at all if they thought I was in a relationship with the Gondorian, for I was not doing anything to stop those suspicions that they had. All too often would I find my hand in Boromir’s as I dozed off to sleep in the afternoon, and most days I would walk with my hand curled gently in the crook of his elbow like this.

“I still maintain that walking east into Mordor, with a company of just ten, is folly. We should follow the north-south road from Rohan and seek protection within the great walls of Minas Tirith before heading into the heart of enemy land with a great host at our back.”

I pulled my eyes from the fellowship, following Boromir’s steely gaze that was staring out to the south as if he sees his city through the mountain range that stretched out as far as the eye could see. He’d grown up on the western front, constantly battered by the forces of the enemy and come out victorious every time. To him the great kingdom of Gondor must seem the best place to take the ring, there it could be protected by his people and perhaps even be used against the enemy that had long tormented his people.

“That is a path that we cannot take Boromir, no matter how desperate you are to follow it. If we took the weapon of our enemy into Minas Tirith, your father would take it from Frodo, and claim it as his own. You’ve heard the whispers of the ring in your heart, though I know you will heartily deny to me you do indeed hear them. It makes sickly promises of the power to protect your city, giving you hope for a long desired victory against Mordor.”

I felt sick to the stomach as I thought about what the ring would do to Boromir over the coming weeks. Stood beside me was a man of honor and deep integrity, a man that easily smiled and put the desires of others before his own. The ring would take all those wonderful qualities and use them against him to bend the Gondorian to its whims. Boromir would be left a broken man, having abandoned his honor in a moment of weakness, and he’d pay for that lapse with his life. If it could twist Boromir up so badly, then I could only despair at the thought of what it would do to the already twisted mind of his father.

“You are strong, I have faith in you to ignore the temptations of the ring, but your father? I know all too well the tragedies that have befallen the Steward of Gondor, they have pieced deeply into his heart and the ring would break what little remains of Denethor, son of Ecthelion.”  
My gaze turned back to Boromir in time to catch the pained expression on his face as his thoughts turned to his father. Denethor had been a servant to his grief for so long now, that I wondered if anyone even remembered what kind of man he had once been. Perhaps he had once been like Boromir? A selfless man that loved easily and forgave quickly. Or maybe he had been more like Faramir? A kindly soul that had a deep affection for books and knowledge. I took in a breath as we stepped closer to the fellowship, all too aware that we would now be close enough for our conversation to be overheard by even Gimli.

“Best for the ring to head east, for the only hope that Minas Tirith now has lies in that route alone.”

I kept my voice to a whisper, though the grin of approval on Gandalf’s face told me that the wizard had overheard my words. The wizard’s eyes continued to watch us as we finally joined the rest of the group, my hand slipping from Boromir’s arm so that I could accept a bowl of food from the brightly grinning Sam.   
The sandy-haired hobbit had settled happily into the role of our cook, though I could tell that he wasn’t best pleased with the state of our supplies. Sam was currently muttering to himself that he wished we had potatoes, for the stew would be much more filling with a bit of starch, and I couldn’t help but to agree. A low grunt let me as I lowered myself to the ground beside the hobbit, stretching out my right leg to warm my toes by the fire, and staring down into the less than inspiring stew.

“What I wouldn’t do for a nice dumpling right now.” 

“Dumplings? What are those Miss Freya?”

Sam had a curious look on his face as he handed a bowl of stew to Boromir, who accepted it with a soft word of thanks to the hobbit. The man of Gondor took a deep breath of the stew as he lowered himself down beside me, one leg crooked to rest his arm over it, and the other extended outward so that he could rest his foot against my ankle. I should have pulled away, should have not fuelled the rumour mill any further, but I enjoyed the contact too much to care. It was nice to have small moments of affection, just simple touches that brought some brightness to the usually dreary days. 

“They are a delicacy in my culture. You make them with flour, baking powder, salt, suet, and a small bit of water. Mix all the ingredients together, form it into small balls and then cook them off in the stew in the last twenty minutes of baking. They are glorious Sam, I think you would like them.”

I could hear Boromir making a thoughtful sound from beside me, and if I didn’t know any better than I would have said, he was making mental notes to himself. It caused a deep ache to form in my heart. Here he was attempting to remember things like this for the future, and he wouldn’t even be around long enough to make me feel at home in his city. My body shifted slightly, so that I was sitting closer to him, just wanting to feel the warmth of his very alive body, and watched as a beatific smile crossed Sam’s face.

“I say that they sound positively delicious. What other delicacies do they have in Rohan?”

My eyes lowered once again to my bowl of stew, feeling terribly guilty that I had told no one else about my origins yet. The wooden spoon felt stupidly heavy in my hands as I ate, trying to enjoy the complex flavours that the hobbit had infused into the stew despite the lack of herbs. I knew that I would have to tell them all soon, but my fears of how they would react held me back for they had given no real indication they trusted me.

“We have many delicacies, Mr Samwise. But if you asked me what I missed the most, my answer would be cheesecake.”

I almost laughed at how Sam’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

“A cake make with cheese?. I must say Miss Freya, that doesn’t sound appetising at all.”

I guessed it didn’t sound that tasty to someone like him. They either didn’t have cheesecake at all in this world, or they did, and it was so far removed from what I knew of the dessert that I wouldn’t recognise it. My eyes lifted from my stew to watch the dancing light of the fire, chewing thoughtfully on the meager chunks of meat that had been added to the stew.

“You are sorely mistaken, for it is most delicious indeed. When this is all over, it is my intention to gather all my friends and family in the great feasting hall of Minas Tirith. I will bake many sweet treats, from cheesecakes to Eccles cakes, and you will be so stuffed that you will be loathe to ever leave my halls Master Samwise. That can be arranged .... right, dearest?”

My cheeks and neck burned red as I realised I’d just addressed Boromir most affectionately indeed. It was one thing to spend time with him and have moments of tender affection - but to put that into words? I hadn’t even thought myself ready to go that far just yet, and yet Boromir had this way of making himself such an integral part of my life that it felt entirely natural. The male beside me pressed his shoulder gently against my own, still entirely focused on my ongoing conversation with Sam, although his eyes hadn’t left his stew one time in the last few moments.

“The great feasting hall will always be at your disposal, meleth.”

I blinked curiously at Boromir’s sudden use of sindarin, for I had not expected this very military man to speak a second language. His brother was the learned one, and I wondered just how much more there was to discover about the steward’s son that hadn’t been mentioned in the books. Still feeling very flushed, I turned back to Sam, giving the hobbit a broad smile as I set my very selfish desires for the future in hard stone. 

I would stand at the head of my table, one arm linked through Boromir’s as we watched our hobbit guests gorge themselves on modern treats. Perhaps Pippin and Merry would start a food fight? The two were most troublesome and always had smiles of mischief on their faces. My love would laugh most vigorously at their antics, shake his head in a fatherly way, and then join in with the shenanigans of his small hobbit friends. Perhaps after that we would raise our glasses to toast the fallen, muse on the meaning of life, and then drink so much booze that we woke up in the morning with sore heads and little memory of what had happened the night before.

It was a future I so badly wanted to see, and the more time I spent with Boromir, the more convinced I became that this was the future I was here to create.


End file.
